Two To Tango
by gklh910
Summary: A series of one-shots. Involves music and almost more sex than I can handle. Almost. Very M. Stories will range from Fallout 3 to New Vegas.
1. Playing Second Fiddle 1

**A/N:**

**This is going to be a series of one-shots… sort of. A few may carry over into multiple chapters like this one because they may just be too damn long for a logically-sized chapter (I got carried away… it's Desmond, can you blame me?) but they shouldn't be longer than two chapters. **

**This series is special because each chapter/one-shot will be centered around a song. The song title will be in the chapter somewhere. Sometimes it will be easy to find, like this one (I made it bold) and sometimes not. The song will, naturally, fix around the theme or feel of the story. **

**We'll see how this goes anyways ;) **

**Enjoy.**

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"WHAT THE FUCK!"

She screamed her frustration, swinging her shishkebob forward and beheading yet another one of the weird freaks that had swarmed her the instant she stepped off that stupid boat. It was supposed to be a simple task. It had been five minutes and already she was surrounded by tens of bodies. This _Nadine_ bitch had better well be fucking worth it. Mean as she was, 101 just didn't have the balls to say no to someone in need. At least not to their face. So when the frantic mother had come up blubbering about a lost daughter, instead of turning away and minding her own business like she should have, she hiked up her armor and stepped onto the shadiest looking boat in the entire goddamn Wasteland. With the shadiest fucking ferryman, too. That Tobar guy gave her the creeps. He'd been a little too _touchy_ for her taste. If she hadn't pulled her Chinese officer's sword a few inches out of its hilt, he might've gotten even friendlier. Luckily that put him right in his place.

She spit onto the body of a fallen . . . whatever the hell these things were. They certainly weren't normal people. Some of them were elongated with bloated bellies, others way bigger than normal. They were all disfigured.

_Inbred and irradiated_. She kicked one of the smaller one's bodies and it rolled from the force. All of her father's medicinal lessons flashed back at her and she sighed, rolling her eyes. Fucking idiots at the Vault were going to look like this sooner or later if they didn't open up that big door and bring a little more genetic variation into their world. Not that she fucking cared anymore. To hell with the lot of them.

It was foggy in Point Lookout. She'd noticed that before even stepping off the boat and thus began her hatred of the place already. Tobar had mentioned a mansion and pointed her north. Indeed she could see a large building, smoke billowing ominously from the chimney. Squinting through the bloody fog, she began the long hike, shishkebob flaming away in her hand.

Slowly the mansion became more detailed through the mist. The place was huge and she supposed that it had probably once been beautiful with sprawling gardens and freshly painted shutters. But now everything had turned to shit, even pretty places like this. If she still had feelings, maybe she would have felt sad. Instead she just felt annoyed at the inkling that Nadine wasn't even in this mansion and she would have to explore the entirety of this godforsaken hellhole to find her. She was just slipping in through the open gate when she heard muffled gunshots and a gruff, accented voice:

"You! You're no tribal! Get in here and help me fight these bastards off, goddamn it!"

She froze, wielding her shishkebob with a loud _whoosh!_ A quick scan of the garden told her what she'd already established upon entering: no one was out here.

"Yes, you! I see you out there! Stop dicking around and help me, or else these cocksuckers will be coming after you next."

She spotted the intercom by the door and realized that's where the voice was coming from, feeling stupid. Anything that made her feel stupid was usually immediately eradicated. Fuming, she kicked the doors open and stomped inside, flaming sword at the ready.

The wide lobby of the once-grand mansion was filled with the ringing sound of gunshots and the barking of two dogs. A ghoul in a white suit and his beasts were defending the lobby against people clad in strips of leather and wielding trashy shotguns and lever-action rifles. The ghoul had definitely been the one to yell at her, if the raspy voice had been an indicator. Quickly deciding he was the lesser of two evils—and could be easily dispatched later if he pissed her off (again)—she went for the fuckers in leather. She stabbed the nearest one through the back with her shishkebob, dropped it and slipped her combat shotgun from her back. With a few quick pumps she'd downed three more and sprinted up the expansive stairs to honor one more by shooting him in the face—hey, not everybody got that lucky. Sometimes she got lazy and went for a leg and just let them bleed out, but today she was feeling generous.

She hopped up onto the banister and slid her way back down, pulling her sword from its hilt at her hip and slicing another one's head off as she glided past. Landing gracefully on her feet, she swung the sword high above her head and the plunged it into the last remaining asshole, who gasped and cringed and slumped to her knees. Kicking her foot up against the girl's chest, 101 used it as leverage and pulled her sword from the fresh corpse.

There was a long moment of silence as she surveyed the carnage. A job well done, really. The mansion was trashed, but what's a Wasteland home without a little blood? Grinning cockily, she swept up her shishkebob and slid it into its sheath on her side.

"I don't know who you are," the ghoul snapped rather testily from across the room, glasses speckled with blood, "but you need to help me if you want to stay alive."

Raising an eyebrow at his tone, 101 marched over with her arms crossed. "Looks like I just did help you."

"Shut the fuck up and listen," he ordered brusquely, turning on his heel and leading her over to a series of television screens that had live streams from security cameras and explained how he'd seen her before she'd even stepped foot in the door. "They've been at it all night. I think they're just about to breach the inner walls. Follow me. I'm going to go check it out."

Reloading his huge fucking shotgun, the ghoul turned and sprinted into the adjacent room. An explosion blasted the wall of a nice looking sitting room wide open and more of the weird people filtered in. They reminded her vaguely of raiders, with their oddly cut hair and crappy guns, but every time they ran at her, they screamed things like, "Death to the unenlightened!" and "Feed the punga!" One of them whispered, "_Dream_," as she crumpled.

"What the fuck are these guys on about?" she cried as she dodged a swing of one man's knife and smacked him in the stomach with the butt of her gun. As he fell back, she took the opportunity to pump and shoot him. He was the last of the lot and collapsed with a sickening crunch.

"It looks like they're coming in from somewhere upstairs. Follow me!" he barked and, growling in increasing frustration, she had no choice but to obey. He ran forward and for one crazy moment, 101 found herself admiring the way he moved. The way he moved for god's sake. Like he was a fucking ballerina or something, her eyes just couldn't help absorbing the purposeful determination of his gait, more like a march than a run. He spun and glared at her as if he'd read her thoughts and she snarled, about to snap at him, when he said, "Go through these doors and up the stairs. Find where they're coming in and stop them. I'll be keeping an eye on the cameras down here. Hurry!"

And then he was striding away and she was left once again speechless. Screaming in anger, she kicked the double doors open and stormed through, pumping her shotgun ominously. Tribals. That's what the ghoul had called them. Sneering, she made quick work of the _tribals_. They dropped like bloatflies. Some people just couldn't handle the attention of her Terrible Shotgun. She didn't blame them. It was a pretty fucking sexy gun.

"Sleep forever!"

"SHUT UP!" she shrieked, shooting the crazy guy in the face. "I'm tired of your bullshit!"

She could've sworn she heard a ghostly chuckle from the nearest intercom, but it was hard to tell above the screaming: theirs of pain, hers of fury and bloodlust. She hacked her way through the old rooms, clearing each one completely out before proceeding on to the next. Eventually she reached a door she couldn't open, blockaded as it was by fallen tables and chairs.

"There," spewed the intercom beside the door. "Hurry up and seal up that hole. An explosion should do the trick. Maybe there's something explosive by the hole that –,"

The quick BOOM of her shotgun cut him off, followed instantly by the squeal and ear-shattering crash of the pressurized can going off.

"Good," he grumbled, without one ounce of approval in his voice. "Hurry up and get back here. It looks like they're about to breach the east wing."

"Fucking _fantastic_! Who built this house, the three little fucking pigs?" she howled, simply to let out the frustration as she charged through the nearest door and emerged back into the main lobby. "Why couldn't I just use this door in the first place?"

The ghoul didn't answer. He was opening up the door opposite where she was and nodding pointedly through it. Gritting her teeth, she ran in guns blazing—literally. She'd pulled her two 10mm pistols out and went akimbo on those motherfuckers. Five steps in, though, she heard a danger-sounding crack and then she was falling. She landed flatbacked on cold tile and glared blearily up through floor debris through two floors' worth of holes.

She'd fallen through two stories.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!" She rolled up onto her knees, groaning as pain flared in her newly bruised tailbone. Slipping a stimpak from her back pocket, she hastily applied it and then rolled her shoulders and picked up her pistols where they lay in a pile of broken house material. She was in a basement and she had to work her fucking way back up. Tribals were crawling all over the adjacent room and, covered in fresh blood, she skipped up the stairs back to the main level. She finally battled her way to the breach on the east wing and this time threw a grenade to block it, just for flare and the sheer enjoyment of blowing shit up.

The ghoul was waiting in the main lobby again, stroking his mustache with poise and grace. Yeah fucking right. She wouldn't have minded punching him in the goddamn mustache, teaching him a lesson or two about –

"Stop that fucking inner monologue," he snapped in his dignified accent. "They're going to storm the lobby now. Grab all the ammo and stimpaks you need. It's going to be a rough one."

She scoffed and slid down the banister once more, sliding a handful of mines from her bag. She placed two at each door, then hopped back up the stairs and grinned cockily at him.

He rolled his fucking eyes. The asshole. Before she could insult him, there was a crash and a following explosion as four tribals surged in and set off the mines at the left door. Three of them were killed by the blast and she waited until the last one—who had a simple combat knife—was close enough to take out with her pistols. Four blasts later, only a handful had managed to survive the explosions and they were quickly picked off by her, the ghoul, and his trusty little puppies.

She rounded on the ghoul with a smirk.

He sneered. "So, my hero, huh? Think you came in and rescued me right in the nick of time? Not hardly. Had it all well in hand. And I didn't even have to use the failsafe, but that would've done a real number on the paintings, so just as well. Name's Desmond."

"Desmond!" She guffawed unflatteringly, loving how he scowled in response. "What a perfectly arrogant name for the perfectly arrogant prick. Seems like I did a lot of saving for you to just brush me off," she snapped. "What kind of failsafe are we talking about?"

"The type that kills everyone outside of my saferoom and leaves a hell of a mess to clean up. Standard type." He growled a little. "Those mud-lovers want me dead, and haven't extended the common fucking courtesy of telling me why. I know what you wasters value. There would be a reward involved if you want to actually help me out. Decide."

"Hey, first thing's first," she hissed, stepping close and getting in his face—the intimidation effect was somewhat dampened by the fact that she was shorter than him and altogether too thin to be considered really scary. "Don't fucking tell me what to do, zombie, and we'll get along _much_ better."

"Let me stop you there, you wasteland manifestation of ignorance. While you're out there stewing in radiation and your own stupidity, there are bigger things happening than your desperate search for more Jet and fresh water." The seething words cut extra sharply in his abhorring tone as Desmond eyed her scathingly. "I don't have time to quabble with you right now, so either agree to help me further and be rewarded, or get the _fuck_ out of my house! Oh, and don't sprain a lobe thinking it over, either," he hissed as an after-thought, clearly enjoying her face as it twisted into an expression of fury.

Despite her anger, 101 smirked. This ghoul was annoying, but he also knew the power of words as a weapon and she could both appreciate and respect that as a talent. "All right, you old coot. I'll help you. What do you need me to do?"

"Good," he purred. "Be good and maybe ol' Desmond will give you a treat." He smirked as she scowled in disgust. "I need you to infiltrate the church of these idiotic tribals and find out why they keep trying to kill me," he instructed coldly, absentmindedly patting the head of the nearest dog, who panted happily at his side.

"And how would I go about doing _that_?"

"Easy-peasy. Right about now they'll be wondering what happened to their hunting party."

"You really think they'll let me in that easy?" Her voice was dripping in skepticism.

"We're talking about people who think cutting their heads open will help expand their minds. They're not exactly fucking scholars. Just go up to the front door and ask real nice. When you're in, you find the bastard in charge and find out what they're up to. I just need information. No need for violence . . . yet."

She sighed, affecting impatience. "I suppose I can wait." Slipping her pistols back into her bag, she rolled her shoulders, popping the muscles there. She kneeled down as one of the dogs came forward and rubbed against her. Murmuring sweet nothings, she scratched behind his ears and he barked in pleasure.

"What the . . . Freki, get your canine ass back here!" Desmond snapped, clearly displeased. "I've never . . . I don't care, get the fuck out of my house and find out what they're up to!" he snapped, pointing her roughly out.

She smirked. "You wait here, old man. Don't want you breaking a hip." He'd opened his mouth to scream a retort, but she was already marching through the doors and slamming them closed behind her, the force of it making the thin walls shudder and knocking a few paintings onto the floor with loud clatters.

"Fuck her," he growled to Freki, who simply smiled back a doggy grin, licked Desmond's hand, and sat back on his haunches. His eyes seemed to say, 'Is _that_ what you have in mind, boss?'

* * *

"That _fucking_ brain!"

Their voices—sweet, light, twisted with sarcasm, and raspy, cracked, furious—mingled as they screamed in unison. They glared at each other, surprised and annoyed at their brief moment of similarity. They brushed it off as Desmond grabbed a lamp from the table beside him and launched it across the room, where it hit a wall and shattered with a satisfying crash.

101 raised an eyebrow, savoring his anger. "Feeling a little bitter there, old man?"

"Not a word, not one more _fucking_ word!" he seethed, jabbing a ruined finger in her direction. "You have _no idea_ how important this is!"

"Then tell me," she hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. "If it's _so important_ and you still need my help –,"

"Of course I still need your help, you twit. I'm not going to traipse around this sodding mud hole myself," he grumbled furiously. "Calvert and I have been playing this grand game for centuries, fucking centuries." Through gritted teeth, he explained the extent of this 'game.' The fervency with which he spoke made it clear how central this whole thing was to his life. In fact, 101 was fairly certain that he knew nothing else _but_ this rivalry. But fuck it, everybody had their issues and if this crazy old ghoul wanted to wile away his long life mindfucking a bunch of other crazy old guys, _let him_. Who cares if he was so fucking sexy in his cold, spiteful hatred and the way he knew exactly what to say to permanently cripple your self esteem? Not like she was ever going to see him again.

Somehow it made it that much more thrilling.

"Don't pretend like you have any idea who I am," he added gruffly, seeing the triumphant expression on her face. "You still blew up an entire town of innocent people. You're no saint. In fact, you could be the fucking devil himself."

She pushed away the regret for having told him that little fact about her and Megaton with a grin. "For your sake, I hope not."

And then she found herself 'traipsing around the sodding mud hole' herself, shotgun in hand, in search of a way to kill a brain.

_The things I do for a man who knows how to hurt._

_

* * *

_

"In case my dismissal earlier was too subtle for that radiation-addled mind of yours to comprehend," he spat coldly over his shoulder as he attended to a machine in the corner, "this is the part where you _leave me the fuck alone_."

"Hmm," 101 hummed, absently reloading her shotgun, which was smeared with blood and oil and whatever viscous liquid Calvert had kept his brain in, "Don't really feel like it. In fact, I think I'll stick around for the night. It's pretty dark outside and I don't want to chance getting tackled and raped by one of those inbred bastards out there."

"Oh, don't play coy," Desmond mocked, rounding on her with crossed arms, drinking in the sight of her despite any burning hatred he may have felt toward her. She was a sight to behold after the interminable time he'd spent getting the life sucked out of him by insipid tribals and swampfolk and smugglers who had all come knocking at the doors of the mansion, the smartest things around his poor pups. "You would probably like it, you disgusting excuse for a wasteland whore."

She hissed, her ability to form a coherent sentence temporarily disabled by the anger that throbbed within her chest. With a jerk, she tossed her shotgun aside—it skittered across the metal tile and hit a wall, where it fell ignored by the two. She sauntered forward and he disregarded any carnal urges that still existed within his core, for he had been a human man once and human men are just so wont to watch a woman's hips swivel as she walks and imagine them flush against their own, watch the contours of her throat, imaging the length of it as she would toss her head back and scream out their name—she was a fucking bitch and there was just nothing more attractive in a woman than a complete lack of empathy; it was stirring less decorous impulses within him and it was fucking annoying. He was a gentleman and he was the coldest motherfucker in the country—in the world.

"You're a hateful creature, Desmond Lockheart," she simpered with obvious disgust—it was lovely, "And if I didn't love that in a person, I would have killed you already."

"I would have liked to see you try," he scoffed. "You're a fucking angel compared to me."

"What makes us different?" she demanded, her anger rendering her less composed than she would have liked.

"What makes us – ha! What's the difference between you and me, kid? What makes a gifted killer like yourself into a rock-hard bastard like me? The answer is _TRAINING YOU IGNORANT FUCK!_" he screamed—if 101 had been the scared girl she'd been two years ago, she would have fallen down and cried. "I've got a hundred years of experience on you, and don't you _fucking_ forget it!"

With a shriek, she hauled and drove her fist into his stomach with all of her strength. It was with a shock of pleasure and disappointment that she discovered his torso was completely chiseled with muscle—pleasure that he was the most fit male in the entire Wasteland and disappointment that she hadn't taken that into consideration and had probably sprained a few knuckles in her hand. That all left her mind as she watched him flinch and barely resist the instant reaction to double over, a pained groan slipping from his lips despite his efforts. He growled a feral snarl, grabbed her by the shoulders, turned, and slammed her into the machine he'd been studying.

She kneed him hard in the thigh as the breath was knocked out of her, but he merely smirked. "You want to do some real damage, sweetheart, go **get your gunn**. You don't want to play rough with ol' Desmond." He leaned in close and his ruined voice scraped against her eardrums: "It _won't_ end well for you."

"I can't believe I helped you," she grunted through clenched teeth, watching pleasure warm those ice-cold eyes of his as he savored her anguished fury. "You're an old prick and I hope you die alone and unsatisfied."

"You stupid bitch," he sneered. "If I don't die alone, I _will_ be unsatisfied. You're a fucking _infant_, striding up to my mansion like you have any fucking idea what you're doing." He cackled a dark laugh that sent shivers down her spine. "I can smell your arousal. You really are a whore, aren't you?"

Mortification almost got the best of her, but she grinned coldly at him, trying her best to ignore both the painful grip he had on her shoulders and the slow, hot ache that was growing between her thighs. "Your _mother_ was a whore, Lockheart."

He snorted. "You're more juvenile than I'd originally thought. Perhaps I won't fuck you after all. I'd feel sickened penetrating a toddler who cannot even formulate a good comeback!" He released her and made to stomp away, leaving her temporarily stunned. She quickly gathered her wits, though, and jumped onto his back, growling in his ear, "Or you're just not man enough to put a smoothskin in her place," she goaded him with relish. "To teach a little bitch a lesson."

His body was rigid beneath hers and for a moment she began to feel embarrassed and made to get off of him. It seemed that's what he was after, because a split second later his hands clamped down on hers and he swung her off of him and onto the cold, unforgiving tile of the old laboratory. He was on her a second later, a knee shoving mercilessly up against her hot sex, one hand secured around her throat, the other knotted roughly in her hair and it was the best fucking feeling in the world.

"You asked for it, kid," he growled in her ear and the thrill of fear she felt was delicious as his fingers dug into the skin of her neck.


	2. Playing Second Fiddle 2

If 101 had adored his gruffness with words, she absolutely _worshipped_ Desmond's complete disregard to her comfort or pleasure. When he sank his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder, or pushed his clothed hips into hers to make his arousal evident, or hissed how much he hated her into her ear it was absolute heaven.

Vindictive, skin burning, she scratched wildly at his suit until it ripped open and fell from his body. Furious, he grabbed her wrists and trapped them against the cold, disgusting floor, not one bit gentle. She couldn't even feel it. Her eyes were too busy adoring the veins and muscles of his torso. Shifting her hands so that he could keep them pinned with just one of his, he used the other to pull a knife from a sheath beneath his pant leg. Flicking a deadly glare at her that made goosebumps rise on her skin, he flicked the knife open and ran it down the front of her shirt, hard enough to let her feel its tip, but not enough to break skin. The material fell away from her chest, exposing her pert nipples to cold air. Malice flashing in his eyes, he sank his head to her chest and attacked each hard nub with teeth and tongue and dry lips. Her body writhed against him, completely at his mercy, and he had to repeatedly slam her back against the tile.

"I thought you wanted . . . to be taught a lesson," he hissed, bucking against her and making her groan with the sting of uncontrollable want. "It won't sink in if you don't _behave_ yourself."

"Just fuck me . . . you prick," she gasped, gyrating under him.

"Ah, ah, ah," he warned, his fingernails biting cruelly into her wrists. He ran the edge of the knife down the side of her right leg and she held breathlessly still to prevent him from cutting her as well. He ripped her pants from her legs, her underwear bunching in the material and falling away as well.

"So ready for ol' Desmond, aren't you?" He _laughed_ at her, shoving an unforgiving finger into her and she cried out with a spike of pleasure. He crooked it once or twice and then held it still, making her gasp and plead and beg for more. She struggled desperately against his hold, clenching her eyes shut so hard that white spots began to flutter behind her eyelids.

"_Desmond_," she whimpered, squirming in anguish. "_Please_."

Smirking harshly, he obliged her, the rough pad of his thumb finding her clit and circling it hard as his fore and middle fingers jerked within her, summoning pleasure like he was born to do it, the conductor of a symphony, directing waves of rapture through her like the moon and fucking tides. His fingers were cruel, making it oh so obvious that he was merely priming her for his girth and enjoying the sight of her instead of intending to actually please her. She heard the teeth of a zipper give way and tried to crane her neck up to see him.

"No," he barked in a ruthless voice. She obeyed with a whimper, putty beneath his hands. She wanted to fight him, wanted to get him on his back and _show him how much of a whore she could be_, but it was so hard to even scrape her scattered thoughts together into a collective, coherent idea when he was doing such beautiful things to her body. His mouth trailed over her collarbone and he ran it over each nipple, down the flat expanse of her stomach, which twitched from his ministrations. When his hot mouth replaced his thumb on her center, she sucked in a hard breath through her teeth. His tongue was lithe and skillful, tracing the bundle of nerves there with tantalizing circles. She vaguely remembered his yelling that he had a hundred years of experience on her and it was almost funny to think that he was proving it to her now. That hot, hot mouth of his drove her to her peak, almost forcing her into a climax as his fingers twisted within her. She bucked her hips and he released her completely so that his hands no longer touched her body, leaving her cold mid-orgasm. She screeched in frustration, lurching up onto her elbows to glare at him.

His smirk was absolutely venomous. His length was freed from his pants and just the sight of it made anticipation curdle in her stomach. No wonder he was so fucking arrogant. He could be as cocky as he wanted, pun completely intended, with a thing like _that_ hiding around in his pants.

Without warning, Desmond grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her toward him so that she was forced onto her hands and knees. Her expression of surprise made him chuckle darkly. "Don't tell me a whore like you doesn't know how to do something as simple as s– _oh_."

101 had already slipped him into her mouth. Her lips ran expertly over the ridges of his uneven skin, heat scorching between her legs as she imagined the feel of it inside of her. She sucked and hummed and gagged, taking him as deeply as she could and then some, his hand firm but not forceful on the back of her head. One hand came up to curve around the section of shaft she couldn't take into her mouth and the other itched desperately down her stomach to find the heat between her legs.

One of his hands came down sharply on her ass, leaving the tender flesh there bright red and stinging. She moaned around him in pain, her hand scraping against the tile to catch herself as her knees threatened to give out.

"None of that, kid," he bit out callously, but the slight wheeze in his voice gave her more satisfaction than she could describe. He twitched against her as she took him particularly deep and his hand loosened in her hair. "Do you like that?" he asked in breathless amusement. She cried out as he smacked her again, her knees shaking from pleasure.

"I can't take this," she vaguely heard him growl beneath the sound of her own panting. He pulled out of her mouth, grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and spun her around. One hand on the back of her neck forced her down into the tile, her hands barely catching herself and avoiding facing it into the floor, leaving her backside completely open. She spread her thighs for him and glanced over her shoulder.

Desmond didn't waste any time dicking around. She felt his member hot at her entrance and then he slid into her fully and she was screaming, nails scrabbling against the floor. He hissed, pausing for a moment within her to savor the feeling of being completely encased by her heat. Then, slowly, he withdrew, only to slam back in. His hands gripped her sides hard enough to leave bruises as his hips slowly pistoned back and into her. 101 completely lost track of what she was saying and the feel of the cold tile biting her kneecaps and the pain of Desmond's fingers curling into her skin as she melted into a pool of desire and ecstasy.

His rough hands traced her spine from the nape of her neck to the two dimples above her ass. She purred and arched into his touch. His fingers caressed their way back up and knotted in her hair, tugging vehemently to make certain who was in control in this situation.

101 didn't care. She didn't care about fucking anything at this moment but the heart-stopping length of him plunging deep within her and hitting every sweet spot on its way. Her mind was a garbled mess of pleasure and animalistic want. Desmond flexed his hips and went to the hilt, pulling on her hair and watching his length withdraw and disappear within her, a deep groan rasping through his lips. Her walls were so tight around him, better than her mouth, even with that devilishly flexible tongue. The wet sound of flesh on flesh echoed around them, pierced by her sharp screams and the low growl in his throat as he pounded into her. The pungent smell of her blood assaulted his senses as her knees were rubbed raw on the floor. His snarl caught in his throat with a pained groan and she keened, pushing her knees against the floor and pressing her hips out. He slammed hard against the resistance, a low, jilted chuckle sounding from his lips.

"Disgusting . . . ung . . . whore," he grunted, placing a hard slap on her ass, loving and hating her soft, desperate whimpers. He gave a particularly rough shove and her arms gave out so that her shoulders sank to the floor, breasts pressing against the cold tile.

"Shit," she mumbled, trying to lift herself back up. Her palms were too sweaty and the pleasure—ah, the pleasure was just too much. Her bones seemed to be rattling around in her body with each determined thrust of the ghoul's wide hips. He raked his nails down her back and with the sharp sting came a roll of pressure. Desmond, hearing her grunt of shock and rapture, picked up the pace of his motions, releasing his hold on her hair to clench her hips. He jerked brutally into her, panting deeply into her skin.

"_Desmond_," she pleaded, her voice muffled against the tile, saliva wetting her lips and her breath coating the tile with hot mist. Her knees were sliding slowly apart, thigh muscles burning in protest, her shoulders numb against the floor, the only source of heat in her body the barrage of pleasure at her center. One of her hands, limp and weak as it was, slid determinedly between her body and the tile to find her swollen clit. Biting her lip until it bled, she started quick, jerking circles to couple with the sharp pleasure of each of Desmond's harsh bucks. She mewled, each thrust driving her closer and closer. She could feel the tendrils of her orgasm, and with desperation she chased them, eyes clenched tightly closed. So many sensations and yet the one that echoed clearest through her haze of ecstasy was the sound of Desmond's jagged breathing. It was escalating as he pushed harder and harder, hands digging mercilessly into her hips.

Desmond felt his skin itching all over, each push inching him closer. His hands slid over her slick skin, drenched as it was in sweat, as he tried to find a hold. He needed to grasp something and hold tight. His fingers curved around her shoulders, the leverage pulling her hips hard back against his. With a cry of surprise and a shudder, she clenched down hard around him, shaking and trembling along his length and it was almost too tight to manage as she sucked the life out of him with each throbbing pulsation. Desmond roared as he came, nails digging into her shoulders, bursting within the smoothskin's tight clamping hold.

101 froze in her spot, her thighs shaking, and then she slumped to the cool floor, rolling limply onto her side.

Desmond locked his thighs to keep from falling forward, his glasses slightly askew. When she found the energy to tilt her head and meet his gaze, her lips twisted up into a triumphant smirk. "Break a hip . . . old man?"

He simply scoffed as he pulled the ripped remains of his suit top back onto his chest. "Not hardly, though it seems I've completely incapacitated you." He fixed his glasses and got to his feet above her, taking in the sight of his carnage. "Face it, kid. You've been **royally fucked**."

101 laughed that infuriating chuckle of hers, planting her hands firmly on the floor and pushing herself onto her hands and knees. She licked her lips up at him, green eyes glinting in the artificial lighting of Calvert's old laboratory. She'd fucked ghouls before, and they'd all treated her like the blessing she was, but Desmond . . . of course Desmond would make her feel like any average whore. "You seem . . . pretty satisfied yourself."

Desmond smirked, turned on a heel, and picked up a clipboard to resume the transference of data from Calvert's computers. "Yeah, well . . . shut you up, didn't I, kid?"


	3. Music To My Ears

**This is a little cheesy and I took many liberties with the Fallout world and logic itself toward the end, but I desperately wanted to make it fit. It made me all happy to write, there just aren't enough fics about Benji. I hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

There was only one explanation for it all:

Remy was losing her mind.

As she sat Indian-style on a rock formation near the camp, she contemplated how that made her feel. Every day, things became more . . . _real_. The bite of each snowflake on her skin, colder; her pulse after each brush with death, faster; the memories of life _before_ this simulation . . . fainter. Fading completely, to the point where she was beginning to doubt it had ever happened and this snow-white world was her real life, the empty, deserted capital wasteland a complete lie.

Was that better or worse?

Remy wasn't sure.

"Hey, Donovan!" a cheerful voice called up at her. She peered over the edge of the rock to see Sergeant Montgomery's smiling face. "Dinner's being served in the mess hall. Or mess tent. Whatever."

"Thank you, Sergeant," she sang back, sliding down the edge of the rocks and quick-stepping her way to the snowy ground. Her feet sank in the soft whiteness and the Sergeant caught her arms to keep her from falling back.

"Thanks," she repeated with a smile. "Ready?"

He gestured for her to lead the way and fell into step beside her. "I'm really impressed with your performance at the artillery outpost, Donovan," he said casually, gazing off over the cliff edges they skirted. "Never seen a rookie move that fast."

Remy thanked him again, blushing a little. He sent her a sidelong glance and smiled. As they approached the tent, Benjamin stepped forward so he could hold the flap open for her.

"Thank you, sir," she said for the fourth time, shier with each repetition. She ducked inside and sighed in relief as the warmth greeted her. Their heaters were a godsend, keeping the tents deliciously heated and giving each tired soldier a break from the bone-shattering cold of Anchorage, Alaska.

"It's Donovan! Hey!" one of the other sergeants cried. His cheeks were red, presumably from the vodka bottle clutched tight in his hand. "Heard you did a great job up there, rookie! We're proud o' you!"

One of the privates sitting near the door winked up at her. "Proud of you indeed. Why don't you come to my tent later and I can show you just how proud –,"

Benjamin slapped the back of his head with a disgusted sneer. "Keep it in your pants, private," he snapped angrily. The private blanched and turned away instantly.

"Sorry, sir."

General Chase shushed them all from the head of the long table, his gray, ice chip eyes spearing her with intuitive scrutiny. "Yes, we're all so proud of you. Please, take your seat, Sergeant Montgomery, Private Donovan."

The food was passed around and, just like every time she enjoyed a meal in this strange, cold world, the food shocked her with how real it tasted. Each spoonful of soup slid hot and spicy down her throat, her one shot of whiskey warming her to the core. It was very _non_-protocol to drink in uniform, but General Chase was sympathetic. It was balls cold in Anchorage and when the soldiers weren't out working, they could be stuck there for days at a time with nothing to do.

With Remy's arrival, however, things had been thrown from their stasis into constant motion. That one drink was the only one she'd taken since the simulation's beginning and it was more than enough. She savored the heat zinging through her system, exhaling softly through her pink lips. She felt eyes on her and glanced over to see Benjamin's steady gaze. But he looked away instantly, as if it hadn't even happened, turning to a fellow sergeant at his side with a raucous laugh at some joke he'd told.

Remy pushed her empty plate away, brushing her hair out of her face with a lazy smile. A good, filling meal. Most of the other soldiers were either rising to their feet to hit the hay or drunk and engaging in loud, vulgar conversation. General Chase had already left, claiming he could only take so much idiocy before his head ached.

"Come on, Donovan," the private who had hit on her earlier coaxed, sliding her another shot of whiskey. He grinned, white teeth standing out against his tan skin. "Just one more. You deserve it. I heard you kicked some ass up there."

Remy pursed her lips. It _was_ just a simulation—well, maybe it was only a simulation, but that whiskey sure looked good and the warmth settled in her belly from the first shot was wonderful, her own little personal heater within her. With a crooked smile, she palmed the shot glass and tossed it back.

Fire flowing down her throat, buzzing in her esophagus and tickling her tummy. She laughed a little, slamming the glass back down with a grin.

She wasn't sure how many she took after that, but after a while and a few glasses later, she was feeling delightfully tipsy. She giggled and slumped forward, ducking her face into her hands. Her cheeks felt warm and she rubbed them thoughtfully.

"Feeling it, Donovan?" Benjamin chuckled, touching her arm to catch her attention.

"Ooh. Yes." She yawned and he got to his feet, steady despite the few drinks he'd had himself.

"Come on, Donovan. Let's get you to your tent before you pass out here." He pulled her up and slung his warm around her shoulders to guide her. The private at the table looked up with a scowl.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" he demanded of Benjamin, who rolled his eyes.

"Better luck next time, _private_." He glanced over at Remy and frowned, noting her lack of snow gear. He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled it tight around her. Satisfied that she would be warm, he pulled her out into the snow.

Remy shivered a little in anticipation of the cold, but the low temperature didn't reach her through Benjamin's jacket. She inhaled deeply, her exhale misting in the cold and floating away like a ghost, intertwining with Benjamin's beside her. His jacket smelled . . . wonderful. Masculine and warm. She breathed in again, savoring the delicious scent. They crunched through the snow. She was dizzy and swimming in his intoxicating smell. Benjamin just chuckled at her disorientation. She had all the force of a storm in the battlefield, but she was a goddamn lightweight. She twittered a laugh again and ducked her face into his shoulder.

Mmn, he was _fit_. The thin shirt he wore exposed the muscles that moved beneath smooth skin, his nipples pert in the cold. She licked her lips, wanting to taste them, and then scolded herself sharply.

_Not a thought you have about your superior officer. Come on, Remy, get it together, girl. You've been drunk before._

Benjamin studied her carefully. Her eyes were closed, lips set in a tight line as if she were frustrated about something. Her blonde hair was in wild disarray, whipped back by the wind of an insipient storm. He picked up the pace, skin crawling with goosebumps so strong that it hurt.

Her tent was another handful of yards away. His was much closer. He raised the flap to his own tent and ushered her inside, quickly sealing the material closed behind them with a shiver.

Benjamin shuddered in the sudden warmth, sighing in relief. He turned to see Remy sitting limply on the chair in his corner, swaddled in his jacket, cheeks pinked against her pale skin. Her brown eyes flickered up to his, glossy in her intoxication.

"Hey," she muttered, smiling a little. She closed her eyes, exhaling softly. "You smell good." She ducked her nose into the collar of his jacket, breathing in deeply.

"Thanks." He chuckled, grateful she hadn't tacked a 'sir' onto the end of it. It made it more . . . personal.

Benjamin wasn't sure _why_ he was so attracted to her. She'd shown so much strength on the battlefield, taking down commies like they were flies and any woman that could match—or better yet, _surpass_—his skill in battle was all right with him. His life had been filled with weak women: his mother, former lovers. . . . He wasn't surprised to find himself so drawn to a tough woman.

The tough woman in question was currently pressing her cheek against the warm surface of his little table, pushing books and a lamp out of the way so she could rub the smooth metal. Benjamin laughed and carefully lifted her upright once more. "Have a little _too_ much, Donovan?"

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, giggling. She grabbed his hand and pressed it to the side of her face. His skin was warm and rough and she loved it. "Thanks for the jacket."

"No problem." He frowned, kneeling in front of her. She was rather short and, combined with the small chair, their faces were almost on level. Brown eyes met and the air seemed to freeze around them. "Remy."

Her name on his breath made shivers travel down her spin. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his. Her breath tasted of whiskey, cool against his lips. He cupped her face and smiled. "I like you, Remy."

She laughed, her head swimming. "I wish I wasn't drunk, Benji."

Benjamin smiled and tapped her nose. "It's okay. We can always flirt again when you're sober."

"Oh," she sighed and she sounded disappointed. "We're only going to flirt tonight?"

The implication made his cock twitch in his pants. He took a deep breath. "You're . . . you're drunk, Remy. I wouldn't want to take advantage of you."

She giggled, grabbed his face, tilted it back, and kissed him. Her lips were _so soft_ and sweet. One of his hands curved around her delicate neck, the other brushing her hair from her face to palm her face. She felt just as good as he'd always imagined her to, delicate and tender. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body flush against his.

After too soon, Remy pulled away, blushing deeply. He frowned, feeling guilty. "Remy, I –,"

"No," she interrupted with a laugh. "I'm melting in here. Help me get out of it?"

"Oh," he breathed with a chuckle. "Right." He helped her to her feet and steadied her. He paused for a moment, loving how she looked in his jacket. Like she belonged in it. When she wiped the sweat from her forehead, he was jolted from his admiration and slid it down her shoulders. She sighed in relief, plucking her shirt to air out her flushed skin.

"Better?" He tossed his jacket aside and planted his hands firmly at her waist.

"So much," she replied easily, moving close to his body again. His hands were warm at the small of her back. Glancing once more at her face—getting a reassuring smile—he ducked his head to her neck and pressed his lips to her throat. She groaned, tilting her head to the side to allow him better access. He found every tender spot on her neck, from the dip of her collarbone to the inch of skin just below her ear. He was just as thorough as he was on the battlefield and she loved him for it. While his mouth attended to her delicate throat, his hands were busy guiding hers to his chest.

"You can explore . . . if you want to," he breathed into her ear, making her shiver.

"I've wanted to since day one," she whispered back. Her fingers began to unbutton his shirt at once. When it was open, he shrugged it off and quickly returned his hands to her again. Remy sighed, hands running over each abdominal muscle, her breath hitching as she discovered just how amazingly fit he really was.

Benjamin gently stepped them toward the bed. They ripped the blankets off and then tumbled onto the cot with laughter and a bounce. He kneeled around her legs, smirking down at her as she giggled. His steady fingers began to unbutton her shirt. He paused after each one, though, to kiss every inch of skin as it became exposed to him. Remy was breathing hard, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. When her shirt fell loose, he pressed his large, warm hands to her flat stomach, watching her eyelids quiver as she arched her back up into his touch.

"How long have you wanted to do this?" she asked in a quiet voice, opening her eyes to meet his gaze.

He laughed, thanking the gods she'd chosen a front clasp bra as he undid it and slid the straps down her shoulders. "Since day one."

"Mmn," she hummed, licking her lips. "Me, too, Benji."

"Good." He leaned forward again, supporting his weight with hands on either side of her head, and kissed her. His bare chest was so warm against hers. She locked her arms around his neck, kissing him back with abandon, opening for him so that his tongue could explore her mouth. Teeth and tongues met, a bit clumsily due to their overwhelming passion and her intoxication, but neither were put off at all. He rolled them onto their sides so that he could wrap his arms around her waist and pull her closer. She kept one hand tangled in his hair, the other hunting down his sculpted chest to find the button and zipper of his pants. She kicked out of her boots and then used her toes to grab his now unfastened pants and jerk them down.

"That's pretty neat," he mumbled with a laugh, burying his face into her neck as she giggled.

"Comes in handy when I've only got two hands," she murmured, sliding his pants the rest of the way off with her feet.

Benjamin was too impatient to fumble around, instead attacking her pants with his hands and having them off in a quick flash. She tangled her legs with his, arching one up and over his hip. Without the thick material of their snow pants in the way, his arousal was very much evident against her thigh and it was wonderful. She traced the bulge with teasing fingers and he hissed into her skin.

"I'm impressed, _sergeant_," she laughed huskily. He kissed her fiercely in response and she rolled him onto his back so she was on top. From this angle, she was free to grind her hips against his, eliciting a strangled groan from his throat. Her teeth gently caught his lower lip, the slight sting so delicious combined with the friction she was supplying him with down below. His hands ran down her slender back and slipped beneath her underwear, caressing the soft flesh of her ass. She hummed and giggled, nipping his shoulder. He flexed his hips upward, his arousal hitting her just _so_, the cotton of her underwear rubbing perfectly against the bundle of nerves at her center. She cooed a moan, feeling his cock twitch harder, something she would have thought entirely impossible up to this point.

"Remy," he rasped gutturally in her ear and she shuddered. His voice was so full of desire. If she hadn't already been so ready for him, that would've done it. She kissed her way down his chest, pausing poised above him for just a moment, before she took one of his nipples into her mouth.

"Wha – oh, God," he groaned, twitching beneath her lips. He had never been one for letting someone play with his nipples, but he'd never imagined it could feel so good. His hands ran down her collarbone to cup her breasts, gently rolling her hard nubs between his thumbs and forefingers. Her breath hitched around the nipple she was attending to and she stopped to allow him to continue touching her. She moved back up his body and planted a firm kiss on his lips, which he returned with uncontained enthusiasm.

She propped herself up with a hand against the bed, but the other was free to slip his underwear from his body. She then discarded her own and they pressed flush against each other, completely bare. Remy rolled onto her back, banging her elbow against the cot's frame and groaning a dull "Ouch!"

Benjamin chuckled a little, grabbing her arm and pressing a tender kiss to her elbow. "Better?"

"Mmn, much," she sighed, beckoning him over her. He positioned himself between her thighs, which she clenched around his waist.

They stared at each other for a moment, eyes darkened with emotion. Benjamin kissed her softly and she sighed against his lips.

"I want you," he whispered, gently cupping her face with one hand and kissing the dimple beside her mouth as she smiled.

"I can tell," she murmured back, rolling her hips and feeling the tip of him graze her entrance. He groaned against her skin.

"I . . . _need_ you." He kissed her again, harder this time, insistent. "I might . . . God, I might love you."

Remy's eyes widened, her pulse skyrocketing. Benjamin's gaze was completely serious as he pulled back to make eye contact with her. "I mean it, Remy. I know this might be the worst time for it, but –,"

"No," she interrupted softly. Her vision was blurring a little from the alcohol and doubts about the reality of it all swam to the surface of her addled mind. "I don't know what everything means right now . . . but you'll always have a place in my heart, Benji."

"Good," he breathed with a relieved smile. Then, before she could even react, he tilted his hips and slid into her.

"Oh!" she gasped, feeling him fill her inch by inch. He pressed a hand to her cheek, thumb holding her jaw in place so that he could watch her expression as he entered her. Her eyes widened and lips slackened with each push and when he hilted, she made a small, sobbing sound.

"Am I hurting you?" he grunted, his care for her the only thing empowering his self control. The urge to pull out and slam back in was almost overwhelming.

"No," she gasped, clutching weakly at his shoulders. Her eyes clenched shut, breaths coming fast in pleasure. "But I will be hurting you if you don't keep going."

The words were sharp blades, cutting through the last of his restraint. His hands gripped the cot's frame, allowing him to stabilize each thrust and hit deep every time. She angled her hips upward, blossoming like a flower beneath his rhythm, absorbing the shock of each push with an unbridled shout. Rapture pulsed through her veins, settled in each stream of sweat down her body, made her cling to him as if he were her very last breath and she'd better fucking enjoy it.

Each whimper of his name that tumbled from her thick lips was a blessing and a curse that spurred him on with abandon. Fervently, he grabbed her legs and draped them over his shoulders, gripping her hips hard and driving deep. She cried out, hands falling limp off the edges of the cot. Each sweet dip into her body was the tasting of an elixir, the discovery of an oasis in the desert. He felt, for a brief moment, that he hadn't existed at all until he'd met her. What a ludicrous idea to have at this moment.

"You're – you're thinking too hard, Benji," Remy gasped, digging her fingernails into his shoulders and rolling that beautiful, brown gaze up at him. Her hair clung to her face with sweat and her grin was so freely jubilant that it made his heart clench. "Just _fuck me_."

Benjamin groaned, her vulgar language going straight to his cock. Remy pulled him close and her lips closed over his throat, sucking the skin there hard. He gasped as he felt the sharp sting, bucking roughly into her as a response. Shocked, she cried out into his skin and the sound was lovely, so lovely. He'd wanted this for so long and she was _so sweet_ around him.

"I love this," he rumbled, latching desperately onto a hard nub and hearing her groan, feeling her twitch against him in response. "I _love_ this."

Remy shivered from his words, his ministrations, and his hard, hard length hitting home in her tightness. Her toes curled behind his head, legs clenching close to his neck as he drove—_deep_—within her, hitting _just the right spot_ and setting her off like a flame to the fuse of a firecracker. The bliss rolled up her body, the fire travelling swiftly, collecting momentum as it arched from the balls of her feet, up those lovely, long legs, exploding within her core with the force of a firework itself, colors detonating behind her closed eyelids and burning into her mind. The climax shattered the doubt, the uncertainty, the fading grip on reality and her mind latched onto itself once more, cementing her existence in place.

Benjamin gaped at her, slowing his thrusts as her screams splintered the silence of the night around them, pierced the sounds of the storm outside. Fearing at first that others would hear—then deciding, _Hey, fuck it, this is the best lay of my life and the others can suck my dick if they care that much_—Benjamin grinned like a madman and picked up the pace once more, growling at the delightful difficulty of pushing into her clenched core, pulsating as it was in her orgasm. He gripped her waist, pulling her hips upward and pushing into her, flesh ramming against flesh, making his skin ache and itch as he felt the beginning of his own climax come into play.

"Oh, fu – _Remy_," he rumbled. His animalistic, delicious sounds compounded with her squeal of ecstasy and filled the tent with the symphony of their lovemaking. Benjamin ducked his face into her throat and inhaled the heady scent of her skin, somehow floral and tangy with sweat. His orgasm was crawling its way across his skin and he bit down, savoring her scream as they came together. Her walls tightened around him once more as he gave his last few thrusts, unwinding in her grasp until each and every last aftershock of pleasure had radiated from his length to his fingertips and toes.

Benjamin barely managed to hold himself up above her. His chest constricted with his heavy breathing and he hardly had the energy to laugh at her completely exhausted expression. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips and brushed her hair from her sweaty face before retracting his soft member from her and rolling onto his back. The cot didn't allow for side-by-side snuggling, so he cuddled the gorgeous private to his chest instead.

Remy pressed her lips to his chest, mingled emotions attacking her psyche from the inside out. She knew now, with the explosion of sensation, where she was and exactly what she was doing. The warm skin pressed against her, the masculine panting, the lingering pulses of pleasure within her . . . they were all nonexistent.

But her feelings for the sergeant . . . they were very real.

Remy closed her eyes, feeling tears burn against her eyelashes. Anguish threatened to brim in her chest and scorch away the pleasant well-being of post-coitus slumber, so she did her best to push the thoughts away and nuzzled his neck with a sigh.

Benjamin ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her temple. "**Stay now**," he whispered softly, a strong arm looped protectively over her back. "Just stay."

Remy glanced up at him to see his eyes flutter closed, a blissful smile gracing those beautiful lips of his. She brushed her mouth over his, savored the taste of him, and then grabbed the blankets from where they'd been thoughtlessly discarded on the floor and tucked the comforter around them. Humming in satisfaction, Benjamin murmured one last "Stay, Remy," before he tumbled into sleep.

She did her best to keep them away, she really did, but the tears were building up and had nowhere else to go, so they ran down her cheeks and puddle on his heated skin. She dabbed them away with the blanket, trying to ignore the ache in her heart, but it was there and there was nothing she could do about it.

"I can't."

* * *

"State your purpose in Rivet City," the man ordered snappishly, his large hands palming his plasma rifle possessively.

Remy looked up with irritation, her patience very quickly dissipating. Then she gasped.

_That face. That face! Could it be –_

"My friend, are you all right?" Fawkes asked in his gravelly voice, which was thick with concern. He planted a hand on her shoulder.

"I – I'm fine," she assured him, shaking the memories away, memories of hot touches despite the cold, low laughter, soft lips, fighting and making love. . . .

Remy raised her voice to call back, "I'm here to see Dr. Madison Li."

"All right then," the man said, still suspicious as he stepped out of her way. "But I'll be keeping my eye on you."

_God, even his voice is similar._

She nodded, dumbstruck, and edged past him. Fawkes stayed close to her.

"What's wrong, my friend? I recognize the worry in your face by now," he added chidingly.

"Fawkes, it's . . . it's a long story."

"I have all the time in the world."

She exhaled deeply, stepping into Rivet City and taking in the hustle and bustle of the capital wasteland's most successful settlement.

"You look as if you have seen a ghost," Fawkes insisted, using a phrase he'd picked up from her over time. She smiled a little, heart clenching in her chest. When tears threatened to come, she pushed them back as best she could and patted Fawkes reassuringly on the arm.

"Let's go see that doctor, Fawkes."

* * *

_I stole the mem chip from that jerk Braun. Where does he get off robbing people of their souls like that. Anyway, he's so involved in that simulation of his, that breaking in and taking it was like stealing from a little girl. Of course, I won't know whose memories are on this thing until I integrate it into it's new host. But they never specified, so it shouldn't really matter. I can't wait until the subject arrives._

Remy read on, her breathing accelerated to a dangerous frequency as she clicked the next entry on Pinkerton's terminal.

_I got those memories into that Android like I was God sending down messages from Heaven. Calls himself "Harkness" now. Thinks he's an old combat veteran. Did a little extra tinerking with his reflex system. He's certainly not someone I'd want to meet in a fight. When he "woke up" he was all confused. We told him he was in a coma for a long time. Between the new memories and the new face I gave him, there isn't anyone that would recognize him. Not even himself!_

_Turns out Zimmer had found the brain of some old army sergeant who had won a bunch of medals. When he died in combat, they took his brain and preserved it – God only knows why. I sure as hell wouldn't want _my _fucking brain preserved. Evidently it came in handy though, because they built it into his A3-21 android . . . after using his brain to complete some simulation they made to lock away old technology. Some Commonwealth practice facility, I don't know. Anyways, that explains why it was so goddamn smart and ran away. What kind of idiot uses an old military brain? Probably thought he'd be obedient. Glad he ran away, to be honest. He deserved to be free._

"Hey . . . you okay, kid?"

"My friend?"

Remy had crumpled onto the floor, her hands covering her face and her shoulders wracked with sobs. She had never experienced such a strong catharsis—at least, not since that fateful day countless years ago, tucked into soft blankets beside the man she'd grown to love. Slowly she regained her composure and, with Fawkes's help, got to her feet. He supported her with a big hand under her arms.

"I'm all right," she told both him and the annoyed old man.

"Jesus, kid, didn't think you'd collapse after reading it. I don't care what you do with the information there, just don't tell anyone I live here."

"I won't," she promised quietly, unable to put any strength behind her voice. He eyed her suspiciously one last time before shrugging and turning up the stairs. Remy looked up at Fawkes, something like hope throbbing in her chest for the very first time since she'd entered that goddamn simulation.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked her uncertainly.

"Oh, yes. I am _so_ ready to go." She put her small hand in his and together they walked out of the broken bow.

* * *

"Harkness!"

The android looked up, a brow raised in both annoyance and mistrust."Could you try _not_ to disrupt the peace, please?" he growled.

Remy couldn't even find it within her to be irritated. She ran up close to him, making him reach for his rifle. Before he could even grab it, she gasped, "Activate A3-21 recall code violet!"

Harkness cried out, nearly stumbling to his knees. Fawkes rushed forward to keep him upright as he struggled under the overflow of memories stemming from some buried part of his psyche. Remy wondered for a brief moment whether she'd made a mistake, and then Harkness looked up at her and he wasn't Harkness anymore and . . . was he smiling?

"I . . . remember everything." His eyes seemed to be tracing her every feature and he stepped close to her. "Remy?"

Moisture burned her eyes as she stared up at him, lips trembling. "Benji?"

"Yes. Oh, yes." He touched his own face, looking sad. "They used my brain. Weird, huh?"

"I'll still take you," she offered with half a smile, pressing her hand to his cheek. He held it there, briefly closing his eyes.

"I never knew it was a simulation until you showed up. They simply . . . erased it from my head. Don't know how, don't know why. Put in fake memories up to that point, then let me loose. I have no idea how long I was in that simulation, but once it was finished, someone from the Commonwealth came and picked my brain up. Took me back to my android body. And I returned to picking up runners. You set me free."

"You set yourself free, Benji. Always were a stubborn bastard."

"You bet." He gently framed her face with his hands and breathed in her scent, sighing softly. "But I remembered everything about you. Ached for you. It's part of why I left. I was going crazy thinking about you every day. I had to . . . had to get _rid_ of the memories. I'm so sorry." He pulled her close and buried his face into her neck, his body shaking against hers.

"Benji," she murmured comfortingly, running her hand through his hair. "I kind of wish I could have gotten rid of them, too. Can you imagine falling in love with somebody who doesn't exist?"

"I can, actually," he whispered with a hesitant smile, eyes searching hers and they were such a familiar brown. She found herself silently thanking Pinkerton for making him look so much like his old self. Without it, she wouldn't have recognized him. They might have coexisted until death never knowing the other still existed.

Remy wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, slow and tender.

"Do I taste like metal?" he whispered against her lips and she gave him a teary laugh.

"No. No, you don't."

He pulled her so close that she was lifted off of her feet and she couldn't even feel how tightly he was holding her. He could have crushed her lungs and she wouldn't have stopped kissing him for the world. "Benji."

"Mmn." He pulled away, remembering that beautiful shade of brown and the light scar beside her right eye and taking in the new ones that littered her perfect face. "Yes, Remy?"

"I'll stay. God, I'll stay."


	4. Play It By Ear

Leo tossed back another shot of diluted whiskey. It barely burned going down, but it was better than any other mystery liquid on tap at the Atomic Wrangler. You just couldn't trust a cup of anything nowadays unless it came straight from an unopened bottle. She burped, hiccupped, and laughed simultaneously, all three bodily functions getting caught in her throat and making her gag for a moment.

"You all right there, kid?" James Garret asked, eyeing her in concern. It had been at least a week since someone died in his bar and he liked to keep it as infrequent as possible. Their record was three and a half weeks; records were made to be broken and that was his current goal.

"Fine, just fine," Leo croaked, eyes watering as she beat her fist against her chest. The coughing fit died down and she poured herself another shot with steady hands. "I've had worse. Keep 'em coming."

"Hey, as long as you keep paying, you can have as many as you like, Leo."

"S' a man's name, _Leo_," a drunk gambler slurred beside her.

She punched him in the shoulder hard, forcing him off of his barstool and onto the floor, where he slumped like a wet rag. "Say that again, pisshole," she threatened with narrowed eyes. "It's short for _Leonora_! So fucking _say it again_!"

"I – I didn't say nothin'!" he corrected himself as he scrambled to his feet and split with shaking legs. He passed Raul as the ghoul entered the dirty casino. The mechanic raised the remains of an eyebrow at his companion, their shared bag slung over a shoulder.

"You always send them runnin', boss, or is it just when you're drunk?"

"Hyark hyark hyark," Leo onomatopeed, rolling a glare at him as he took his seat beside her.

"Maybe you've had one too many, boss."

"Impossible. Cass taught me how to drink whiskey like it's water."

"Yeah, well Cass is also a fall-down drunk."

"What? No, she's a totally functional human being."

"Didn't say she wasn't _functional_, boss. Just a drunk."

"You hear this guy?" Leo demanded of James, hitching a thumb at a smirking Raul. "He thinks he's such a comedian."

"Hey, I'm the _only_ ghoul comedian in this casino," Hadrian called from across the room, angrily crossing his arms and glaring at Raul. "You come to take my job, _hombre_?"

Raul sneered unappreciatively. "Yeah, _ese_. _Quiero robarte tu trabajo_." He rolled his eyes. "I am two hundred and thirty-four—meaning I am way too goddamn old to be dealing with two-bit comedians in a dirty bar like this."

Leo sniggered, patting Raul dismissively on the shoulder. "Don't let it get to you, _amigo_. You get so wound up."

The ghoul put his hands up in defense. "You know I don't, boss. I am lazy as a leaf in the wind."

She snorted, consequently choking on her next shot of whiskey. She slammed the glass back down and Raul had to slap her back to help her swallow the liquor down. Cheeks red, coughing, she nodded her thanks and got up. She slid the shot glass back across the counter, along with a handful of caps to cover her bottle of whiskey. "Thanks, Garret. I'm gonna go enjoy my buzz now."

"Yeah, well don't die up there," he said uneasily. "Dragging the last dead drunkard out last week was a pain in the ass."

"Thanks. I'll keep it in mind." Leo stumbled a little getting off her stool, so Raul supported her with an arm around her back. She lolled her head back against his chest as he toted her up the stairs. Beatrix passed them on the way down, a cigarette lit between her lips and her clothes slightly askew. From the strong smell of sex on her, Leo surmised she'd just finished with a client—though "victim" seemed like the better word from how rough the ghoul could be. She'd offered Leo free services since she'd been the one to score her the job, but the Courier had declined as politely as possible. It wasn't that she was a ghoul, it was that she was a crazy fucking bitch who would probably kill her in the process of what she deemed "sex," but what Leo was certain was more along the lines of corporal punishment.

Now Old Ben, _there_ was someone she'd spend her money on for a night. He knew his way around a lethal weapon, if you could get her drift. She'd tumbled around in the sheets with him his first night on the job—and she had to admit, he knew his way around a woman's body, which was to be expected after his years as an "escort," as he liked to call it. Leo had even secretly tried out Fisto, right after she'd activated the sex-bot. It had been . . . an experience, to say the least. Her legs still went numb when she thought about it.

"Hey, watch where you're going, boss!" Raul chided her as she tripped over the top stair and nearly faced it. He caught her by the armpits and hauled her back up onto her feet. "Jesus, Leo, how much did you really have while I was gone?"

"Mmn, not _that_ much," she protested weakly, trying to ignore the way the room was spinning before her.

"I was at the Kings' place for half an hour. It is almost impressive how much alcohol you managed to suck into your little body in that small amount of time."

The way his smooth voice rolled through the word _suck_ had her core tingling with heat instantly. She chuckled nervously, her vision blurring and refocusing about halfway toward her room in the corner of the hallway. It made her secret little obsession with the ghoul much easier to ignore when she was distracted by trying not to vomit. Since he'd joined her, she couldn't get the thought of him pinning her down and fucking her senseless out of her head. Leo was a sexual being, that much had been clear since she'd hit the ripe age of sixteen and fucked an NCR colonel with a fetish for teens and a dick that would make any father weep with pride.

This clandestine attraction had puzzled Leo the instant she recognized it, though. She'd met countless ghouls before, most of them sweet as pie, and had _never_ wanted to get them in bed. However, the instant she'd met Raul she'd imagined him pounding into her, growling into her ear, biting down on her shoulder. Just the image in her head summoned cold shivers down her spine.

"Wait," she whined, leaning heavily on the grimy wall for support. She pouted at her impatient ghoul companion, who rolled his eyes. "I'm drunk, okay? Gimme a break, old man."

Raul simply sighed, crossing his arms and pressing his shoulder casually against the hall beside her. "You let me know when you can walk, boss. Never thought I'd be exploring the Mojave with a toddler when I hopped on your band wagon."

Leo closed her eyes, breathing evenly through her rosy lips in a vain attempt to steady her balance. When she managed to peel her eyelids back open, she caught Raul staring at her—not the usual look of a friend, but the searching, tantalizing, hungry gaze of someone who had a good fuck on the mind. She grinned crookedly at him as he looked away.

"Come on, boss. Before you vomit on my jumpsuit."

"To be fair," she hiccupped, cooing as he towed her down the rest of the hallway, "it's not even yours. It's Miguel's."

Raul sighed again, probably in relief as they reached her room. He set her bag down and began fishing through it for her room key, muttering curses in Spanish to himself with each second that it took to find it.

Leo blinked away the haze of alcohol, wondering offhandedly why she was so horny _this_ time—whiskey had never gotten her hot before. But as she watched the ghoul curse and splutter, big hands sifting through their bag, eyes narrowed in frustration, she realized that now was as good a time as any. The ghoul didn't know it, but whiskey was taking up the responsibility of wingman without his even having to ask.

With a throaty gasp that declared the rupture of her normal inhibitions, Leo grabbed Raul by the collar at the very same instant he'd found the key and risen to his feet. He inhaled sharply as she pulled his lips to hers in a messy, passionate kiss.

Many thoughts whizzed like shooting stars through his mind, each one hot and distinctive, many warring with others as he tried to categorize the smoothskin's actions into the schemas he'd previously made of her behavior during their time together. When this odd, unexpected kiss didn't fit into any of the categories, he decided _fuck it_, made like any flexible ghoul, and _accommodated_.

Raul's hands pressed against the split wood of the old door on either side of her as she tangled her legs with his. He grunted as they slammed, intertwined, against the creaky surface, eliciting a dangerous cracking noise from the ancient door.

Unwilling to break the kiss—which was quickly deepening as Leo opened those plump little lips and began exploring his mouth with her lithe tongue—Raul jabbed the key in his hand into the door until he found the actual knob and slid it into the keyhole. The old wood gave way and they tumbled, clumsy with fervor, into the dirty room. Leo hooked their bag with her heel and dragged it into the room as Raul kicked the door shut and locked it.

When he turned back toward her, the hunger in his eyes was almost too much to bear. Leo lunged at him again and attacked, all tongue and teeth and thin fingers unzipping his jumpsuit. Raul made quick work of her casual dress, hands running from her shoulders downward and taking the thin straps with them so that the yellowed material fell off of her slender frame in one gentle motion.

Leo wore nothing underneath. He groaned in immediate appreciation, kissing down the side of her face to lathe her throat with attention as she helped him shrug out of his jumpsuit.

"Oh, _fuck_," she hissed hoarsely when her small hands found the rough skin of his chest. "Oh, _yes_, Raul." Evidently she enjoyed what she found there, because she pressed her body closer to his and greedily explored his topography with her fingertips. Raul did the same, his coarse palms so goddamn amazing as they ran over her tender nipples. He rolled each hard nub between his forefingers and thumbs, eliciting tiny mewls from his new lover. He nipped her neck and she rolled her eyes in pleasure.

"You wanted this a long time, boss?" he growled sharply in her ear.

"Oh, _fuck yes_," she hissed back with equal aggression and desire. She hooked her arms around his neck and guided him toward the bed. When the edge hit the back of her knees, she pulled them both onto the mattress, where they bounced to a stop.

Raul's arousal became _very_ evident and _very_ fucking thick at this point. Leo was literally salivating as she ran a hand between their bodies and grasped him, his girth almost too much to wrap around with one hand.

"Jesus Christ, you're big," she gasped, unable to contain her outburst. He laughed deeply as she blushed, and bucked his hips into her hold. "Why the fuck didn't you ever tell me?" she asked breathlessly.

"You never asked, boss," he stated with a smirk, lowering his head to suckle a hard nub. She arched up into his mouth, whimpering loudly and clenching her thighs around his hips. While he attended to both nipples with mouth and fingers, his free hand trailed down her torso and found the treasure between her legs. She cooed her ecstasy as her stomach twitched in response to his touch. He slid a thick finger into her, purring in satisfaction to discover her so ready for him. "Jesus, you're wet," he groaned, starting a few languid circles around her clit with the rough pad of his thumb.

"Ooh," she sighed, rolling her hips eagerly into his ministrations. She knew his fingers were long, but they felt enormous inside of her tight walls. "_Oh_!" Her arching voice was enough to get him rock hard and heated. He bit down on his lower lip to keep from palming himself and coming right then and there. No, he knew he'd need her to come first so they could do this again sometime and she didn't walk away thinking he was quicker in bed than he was with a gun. He was a fucking gunslinger. He used to be a terror of the wastes. He'd had more women than he could twice count on all his fingers and toes. He was two fucking centuries old and oh was Leo going to discover what all that experience meant _tonight_.

In a blindingly swift movement, Raul had flipped their positions, landing beneath her. He then rotated her body so that her thighs framed his face and she was holding herself up above his hips. Leo licked her lips and ducked her head, meeting his eyes between their torsos. Then, agonizingly slowly, she traced the tip of his length with her warm, soft, wet tongue. She ran it over the small slit there, rolled it around the edge of the head, finally closed her lips around his girth.

Raul rumbled approvingly as that hot mouth lowered down his length, a hand curling around the rest of his member. He cupped the outside of her thighs and lifted his head so that he could find her clit with his tongue.

Leo cried out, the sound muffled around his cock. It took mere seconds for her to realize that Raul had the most talented and flexible tongue in the entire Mojave desert. Perhaps in the entire world. Because she hadn't thought it previously possible for such a small part of the body to gift someone with so much pleasure. Rapture scaled her skin like the skilled and steady creep of a radscorpion across the desert, simultaneously numbing her mind to all but the pleasure and electrifying each and every nerve. Her lips grew slack around her lover's length as her legs felt like they'd been liquefied. She steadied herself with shaking hands that curled into the sheets of the old bed. Amber hair slick with sweat and sticking to her back, Leo angled her hips downward, forcing his face further into her.

Sucking in a deep breath as her ecstasy spiked, she pulled him back into her mouth. Her tongue flexed up his length, pressing and relaxing, teasing him until his fingers bit deliciously into the flesh of her thighs and she felt his hips tense and ease, tense and ease. Her fingers cupped his balls as she took him in as far as she could, eyes watering. His gasping wheeze made it clear he appreciated the effort.

Leo squealed in surprise when Raul's hand came down on the firm flesh of her ass with a resounding slap. She whimpered, savoring the sharp pain.

"_Please_," she begged, shamelessly grinding into him. "_Ooh_, don't stop, Raul. _Please_."

The ghoul chuckled, lifting her hips away from his mouth.

"Oh, no, please don't stop," she cried, but he pushed her body aside so that he could sit up. Leo bit her lip to try and discontinue her unashamed pleading, but it was all in vain. Raul was just too fucking good, especially when he was spreading her thighs and positioning himself behind her.

"You like this, huh?" he growled, rough hands caressing her now very red ass. She hummed and pushed into his touch. "Well?"

"_Yes_!" she groaned, swallowing back the well of saliva in her mouth. "Please."

"Then come _**closer**_."

Chills, immediately panning over her skin, cold as ice. Before Leo could even catch her breath, Raul had jilted her onto her feet and was brusquely leading her across the room. When they reached the darkened, wooden desk against the far wall, he mercilessly draped her over its wide surface. He held her there for the longest moment of her life, one ruined hand hard between her shoulder blades, pinning her down, the other god knows where, doing god knows what. It wasn't until she felt hot fingers trailing down her hip that she realized he might have been waiting for her to say something.

The first slap came right when she'd opened her mouth. This one was infinitely stronger than the one he'd given her on the bed—and hurt infinitely more. She could barely gasp out an "_Oh_" before he hit her again. Twice, three times, four times, each sharp contact making stars burst behind her eyelids, the edge of the desk biting painfully into her hips.

"Raul," she choked out, eyes clenched shut as her cheek rubbed against the cool wood. "Please." She didn't even know what she was begging him for—to continue or to stop—but she repeated the request in gasping whimpers. "Please, please."

A strangled groan was his answer, and then a pause. She was so certain that he was going to spank her again that when his hand began to gently caress the red cheeks of her ass, she flinched and moaned. The soft touches felt unbelievably sweet after the onslaught of each strong slap. His tender strokes were smooth velvet and she realized she was begging him for more. She would take any number of hits to feel this _pleasure_.

"You wanted me to hurt you," he reminded her softly, his accent rolling deliciously around an almost pained tone. "You've been very good."

She whimpered and spread her legs wider, not daring to glance over her shoulder. "Please, Raul," she repeated for what had to be the fiftieth time, this time on a whisper that was raw with desire. "God, please."

Raul gave no warning. His hands ran up to the top of her ass, twirled designs into the skin there, kept her aching and on the precipice of her own sanity. Her mumblings were nonsensical, twisted into the lunacy of passion. He hummed deep in his throat, rolled a fingertip down her spine. And then he slid into her.

Leo screamed, fingernails scraping desperately against the desk beneath her, knees threatening to give out as he hit home. Raul growled sharply. The rough skin of his legs raked against the back of her thighs, made her whimper and groan and push back into his hips. He stayed within her for the time it took to suck in a deep breath. Hands clenching her hips to keep them in place, he pulled out of her, each ridge of mangled skin a spike of delight within her sensitive core.

Raul tossed his head back, exhaling shakily through gritted teeth. He had never felt anything so good, so wet and tight and luscious. The dim light of the old lamp in the corner spilled over their bodies, cast shadows in the depression of each abdominal muscle on his chest, rolled over the sweat-slick skin of her back. Leo pushed herself up with shaking hands against the old wood of the desk. When Raul slammed back into her, she sank onto her elbows, unable to support herself any further when all of her energy was being sapped with the struggle to not physically implode with each burst of pleasure. Every jagged thrust of his rough hips was a shooting star, streaking through her vision as his growling voice left goosebumps all over her skin.

"_Fuck_," he groaned, driving again into her and shivering when she cried out. "Ah, _yes_."

Leo ground her hips against his. She gasped in shock when his hand moved around to her stomach, itched down her stomach and found the cleft of her opening. Her entire body jerked when he traced her clit, synchronized each slap of their hips with a rough finger over the bundle of nerves.

"Harder," she demanded, eyes clenched shut and her teeth sharp against her bottom lip. She was standing on her tiptoes, angling her hips as far up as she could manage to allow him the best access. "_Harder!_"

"Crazy bitch," Raul bit out in a rough laugh as he gripped onto the edge of the desk and pounded into her hard enough to make her knees give out. Leo collapsed onto the desk as her legs crumpled beneath her. He caught her by the sides, keeping her upright and his length inside of her. Pinning her to the desk with his hips, he grabbed her hair and pulled her body flush against his to whisper in her ear, "You should not ask for something if you can't _take_ it . . . boss."

Something halfway between a strangled gasp and a throaty groan tumbled out of her lips as he let her fall back onto the desk. This time she kept her face down and curled her fingers tight around the opposite edge, set to hold on for the ride as Raul picked up the pace. She was sure to have bruises on her pelvis in the morning from each slam of his hips forcing her into the desk, as well as a few chipped nails from scraping them down the old wood, not to mention scratches and sore marks around her throat where he'd bitten her. But she couldn't feel any of those, no, not right now with his dick so far inside of her she could barely _breathe_ and his hands knotting in her hair and _oh fuck_ was that his tongue on her skin? Each cell burning in her body, heart pumping wildly in her chest, her brain spinning out of control like she'd just huffed Jet, Leo allowed every last tendril of control to disappear, let go of any halfhearted notion that he _hadn't_ already fucked her normal limitations out of her.

Raul trailed a hot path over her right shoulder with his mouth, tasting the tang of sweat, biting down onto the flesh there. Her body jerked beneath his in response and her gurgled coo made it clear she _liked_ the pain. Crazy broad. Crazy fucking broad with the tightest cunt in the entire wasteland. And to think the person who had come to his rescue had been such an amazing smoothskin with _such_ an amazing _body_.

"Feels so _good_!" she whimpered into the desk, hands balled into fists that beat against the wood there. "_OH_, you feel so good!"

Hearing her voice so raw and heated with desire spiked his pleasure, beginning his ascent toward climax. He found her clit again, attended to her there with a purpose this time. Her body arched up against his, sweating, sweet, smooth skin delicious against his ruined chest. His free arm hooked around her stomach, keeping her there as he bucked his hips hard into her and a scream tore through her lips.

Grinning like a madman, Raul continued to thrust into her as he felt her walls clamp down around his length. He gasped in the shock of his pleasure. She was so, so, _so_ goddamn tight in her orgasm, so tight it took effort to push back in but when he did it was heaven, fucking heaven!

The stars behind her eyelids exploded in fine colors and sparks of heat, wracked in her body so that every muscle tensed as her climax possessed her completely.

"_Raul!_" she cried, her unrestrained scream echoing through the old room, undoubtedly audible even to the patrons downstairs at their slot machines. "_Oh my god, RAUL!_"

Her passionate voice throbbing through his name was his undoing. A loud groan of "_Fuck_" and he spilled within her, hips smacking against hips for one last time as he burst into his climax. Eyes shut, gasping for breath, he slumped over her body with a hand on the desk beside hers to support himself.

Leo hardly had the strength to lift herself up, blinking past the blur of sweat and pleasure in her eyes to see Raul's large hand beside hers. She leaned forward and kissed each finger; his warm, breathless chuckle behind her was very comforting.

"My knees just aren't what they used to be, boss," he muttered, the aggressive passion subdued into his normal muted tone. "Let me see if I can peel myself off."

She heard him sigh deeply and then his warm body was removed from hers, leaving her feeling ice cold. She shivered a little, teeth chattering in his sudden absence.

"Come here, boss. You look cold."

After wondering for a moment if she could even move at all, she put some effort into it and got to her feet. Her body was already beginning to feel sore and she was sure it would be worse tomorrow, but for now she wanted to curl up under the sheets with a cigarette and her naked Mexican ghoul.

The aforementioned ghoul was smirking at her when she turned. He took her hands and led her slowly over to the bed, where she threw herself down with a breath of relief. Raul fell beside her, making the old mattress creak and bounce. As if having read her mind, Raul rustled through the junk beneath the bed and came up with a box of cigarettes and Benny's lighter. With an exhausted but very sincere laugh, Leo took the offered cigarette and grinned the instant the smoke hit her mouth.

"Jesus Christ, Raul," she muttered, exhaling and watching the smoke linger then disappear. She glanced over at her rather smug-looking companion, took another drag of her cigarette. "I don't even know what to say. Thank you, maybe?"

Raul laughed, languid and soft. He lit himself a cigarette and enjoyed its slow burn. "In that case, boss, _de nada_. Perhaps it is I who should be thanking you, though," he admitted.

She stretched, purring as her muscles relaxed. She opened her mouth to reply, but there was a knock at the door.

"God damn it," Leo cursed, making to get up, but Raul gently touched her shoulder and rolled onto his feet.

"I will get it, boss. You stay." He swiped his jumpsuit up where it had lay crumpled on the floor and stuffed his legs into the bottom of it. Letting the top half hang from his waist, he stomped over to the door and pulled it open just far enough to poke his head through. "What do you want?"

James Garret looked up at the half-naked ghoul, his hands stuffed awkwardly into the pockets of his suit. "Do you mind telling me what _the fuck_ is the cause of all this noise?" He squinted over Raul's shoulder and spotted Leo's bare body, her breasts hidden only by the sheets fisted around her torso. She waved with a crooked little smile and he stepped away, blushing profusely. "Look, we all got our fuckin' vices, but we don't all have to be so loud about it, all right? Some of us actually do sleep at the Wrangler, my sister and I included."

"Oh, uh . . . sorry about that," Raul said with a wide grin, looking anything but. "I'll try to keep my outcries of ecstasy quieter, but I can't make any promises about my lovely friend here."

Leo faux-giggled and covered her mouth with her fingertips. "Sorry, James. Can you blame me?"

James Garret pulled at his collar, his face suddenly very hot. "Well, just try to keep it down." He turned stiffly on a heel and marched off, leaving Raul to pin a chiding glare at his companion.

"You hear that, boss? No more screaming for you."

"Oh, well then how am I supposed to let the neighbors know how good of a fuck you are?"

Raul blanched as he felt himself stir within his pants once more. Leo's keen eyes caught it immediately and she laughed that dangerous, cruel laugh of hers. "So ready to go again, are you?"

He shrugged, unwilling to allow her to get to him. With a tight slash of a smile, Leo gathered the sheets around her body and stole to the door beside him. After pecking a short kiss to his lips, she wrenched the door open and laughed:

"Wanna sneak down and do it on Garret's bar?"

In his two-hundred and thirty-four years, Raul had never heard a better idea.


	5. A Change of Tune

**For Lily Aerith, whose patience has been much appreciated, as she requested this one-shot a looong time ago. Luckily for me, her tolerance is much more flexible than my schedule. I hope you enjoy, Lily. While on the topic, I will happily take requests. I sometimes run out of ideas and I know you guys can think of something that will just blow my mind, and I can just take the concept and run with it. I'd love nothing more :) So if something pops into your head and you would like to make a request, feel free!**

**Again, thank you so much for the patience, Lily Aerith, and I do hope this fulfills your every wish!**

* * *

She looked up from her papers, sparing a tentative glance at him across the fire. He sat with his knees bent and apart, a book resting on his thighs as it seemed there always was. His eyes were hidden behind the glint of firelight on his glasses, so she had no way of knowing what he was looking at. It both irked and piqued her.

An interesting man, Arcade Gannon, no matter how many times he may have tried to depreciate himself for humor, deflect personal questions with small diatribes on his own disinteresting nature. His white coat was muddied, splotched here and there with blood. Oh, and there, too. On the lapel. She remembered how it got there, too, from a legionnaire who'd gotten too close to her. For a bookworm, Arcade knew his way around an energy weapon. As if he hadn't already been appealing enough.

"It's rude to stare, you know," he murmured chidingly, lifting his head to meet her gaze.

She shrugged and rolled her eyes around the night desert, as if innocent. "Didn't know people still minded their manners," she shot back, hiding a smile and tucking a lock of blonde hair behind an ear.

"We're a select few, I admit, but we try and stick to our guns."

And then he stopped speaking and returned to his book.

She tried, she really tried, to do the same: interest herself in something _other than him_. But it was just so damn hard when he was sitting there, back straight and humble, flipping past page after page at some ungodly pace that Brotherhood scribes would have envied, while she sat here, frustrated and aroused.

_Get yourself together, Toni. He's gay, for Christ's sake._

But wasn't that what just made him that much more alluring? The forbidden fruit, Arcade Gannon. Oh, he probably would have laughed for days over that, his little awkward chuckle that he pulled out for his most uncomfortable situations.

_Me? A fruit? Another gay joke, Antonia? You are the epitome of class._

She travelled the Wasteland her entire life. Met super mutants and ghouls and everything in between. Had her fair shares of one-night stands with people whose names she couldn't even remember.

So why did she have to fall in love with a gay man?

"You're going to go crazy thinking so hard," Arcade sighed, shaking his head and closing the book in his lap. He set it aside and smiled up at her, straightening his glasses. At this angle, she could clearly see those sharp grey eyes. It didn't help to alleviate her thoughts any. That piercing gaze always hit her straight through the heart. "What's got you so pensive, Antonia? Really, I'd like to know. Maybe I can bring it up later, when you're talking too much."

The beginning of her smile faded instantly. "You don't have to be mean. Not everyone is as shockingly intelligent as Arcade Gannon."

"Now, we both know I've never claimed that. Just because I read, that doesn't make me a genius. Just because you have the table manners of a starving dog, that doesn't make you a savage."

She rolled her eyes and climbed to her feet, dusting her pants free of dust and dirt. "If you're going to be cruel, I will enjoy an early bedtime tonight."

"I do recall having busied myself with a book while you sat there, squandering away precious moonlight by memorizing the features of my face," he teased, pink lips curled into her favorite expression.

"Don't flatter yourself, Gannon. I save myself for _real_ men," she shot back as she passed him on her way to their shared tent.

His hand grazed her leg as she passed, the touch sending chills all the way up her spinal cord. "Accede ad ignem hunc, jam calesces plus satis," he informed her, a warning soft in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah, I came, I saw, I conquered," Toni snarked, making him chuckle. "Enough of that demon language. Good night, Gannon." She slipped under the tent flap with a weary sigh. She threw herself down onto her mattress, kicking her boots off when she hit the old bed. She was tired. Tired of wanting and not having. It was driving her insane, this desire. She was considering just giving up and joining the fiends at this point. A Jet-induced stupor sounded like five stars compared to this sexually-repressed fervor.

Toni curled up on her side and rested her cheek on her forearm with another sigh. She fell asleep among the fantasies that she tortured herself with every night, of a soft voice and that shuffling chuckle, calloused hands rough on her skin.

A blessing and a curse.

* * *

"Antonia."

Her full name, whispered in a dulcet, albeit gruff tone, was enough to rouse her from what should have been a full night's sleep. She kicked and rolled over onto her back, trying desperately to peel her eyelids open and at least look her attacker in the eye before he dispatched her. The Courier had at least that much dignity.

"_Antonia_."

She frowned a little. Then she gasped.

Warm hands ran over her body, sliding up under her shirt in one fluid, calculated motion.

"Jesus!" she cried, now fully awake as her eyes flew open and she jerked into a sitting position. This brought her very much face-to-face with Arcade Gannon, whose eyes were dark with amusement behind his glasses as he caressed her stomach.

"You scared the life out of me, Gannon," she chided in a hushed whisper.

"Why are you whispering?" he asked with one of those infuriating chuckles, while his thumbs rubbed soft circles into her skin.

Christ, that made it hard to think. She vaguely tried to murmur something about "the moment" and not wanting to ruin it and his laughter grew deeper. He was laughing at her, the son of a bitch! She tumbled into a tirade about not waking ladies by putting your hands on them, how it was not very decorous and such a refined man as he should not lower himself to the level of spooking girls in the middle of the night.

"Though," she continued in a furious whisper, doing her best to ignore his wicked smile. "I wouldn't expect _you_ to know anything about a lady!"

"Speaking of decorum, it's hardly polite to make assumptions about people, Antonia." The gentle scolding in his voice was enough to make goosebumps erupt all over her skin because god, she wanted him and she wanted him _bad_, especially as his fingertips crawled slowly up the skin of her torso. She glanced over to the corner of the tent, where she'd tossed her bra after loosing it from her body.

Arcade followed her gaze and his smile deepened, into an expression quite cruel in its amusement. His hands inched ever upward as he spoke. "Is that why you've refused to make a move, Antonia? Silly, what an assumption can keep you from doing."

"B-but – you –,"

"I never said that I was homosexual. And yet you always thought I was. You should have asked if you were truly that curious. I could have saved you such torment and told you from the start that I think you are a beautiful woman."

Toni gasped as his palms ran over her breasts, his fingers thrumming once over her pert nipples. Her eyes rolled back into her head among his dusty laugh. Her pulse was skyrocketing to a dangerous pace.

"I'm not an inflexible man, Antonia," he continued calmly, tracing the sides of her chest back down to her hips, where he let his hands rest as he smiled down at her, those grey eyes unnerving, the devilish gleam there hinting at something deeper, something that she would very much enjoy. "I may have implied that I prefer a certain gender over the other, but I never mentioned anything about having no feelings toward the opposite."

"That could provide opportunity for some interesting experiments," Toni panted, trying to control herself. It was wholly unfair that such a collected man could make her so frantic with a few simple caresses. "What did you tell me earlier? Outside the tent?" she asked in a gasp.

Arcade raised an eyebrow, taking her shirt in his hands and pulling it upward. She obliged him by holding her arms up and he quickly discarded her top, lowering his gaze to take in her torso, riddled as it was with scars. He traced her longest one with a fingertip all the way from her collarbone to just below her navel, a tantalizing touch that had her chest undulating under his hand. "Approach this fire, and you will soon be too warm," he translated for her smoothly. With no further ado, he lowered his head to her chest and closed his warm lips around a hard nub.

"Oh, ooh," Toni sighed, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. The sensation of his tongue . His broad hands brushed her skin to press firmly on the small of her back, arching her body up into him.

Toni wasted no time. She tugged at his doctor's coat and he allowed her to pull it off one arm at a time so that he could still support her body. His shirt followed quickly after and then they pressed together, chest-to-chest, bare skin hot against bare skin. Toni sought out the warmth of his throat with her mouth and a sigh tumbled from his lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he lowered her gently onto her back, the old mattress creaking slightly under their combined weight. His eyes took in her body as he supported himself above her, his gaze running hot like steam over her skin. There was a heat there, burning behind that grey stare. _This fire_. While Toni struggled to scrape coherent thoughts together, Arcade explored every inch of exposed skin with his hands. It seemed that, as much as he'd surprised her tonight, he was still the collected, curious, delicately fascinated man she'd grown to love.

It was almost meticulously that he traced the contours of her throat with his fingertips, brushed over the dip of her collarbone. Her chest rose and fell at a faster tempo with each of his light touches, craving more and yet already being driven insane by what he was giving her. Arcade bent over her, eyes flickering every few seconds up to hers to confirm that yes, indeed, he _was_ making her crazy, as he placed soft licks at random places of her torso. One over her solar plexus, a few on the tender flesh of her neck, light on her collarbone, the quick flash of his tongue once, just once, over each nipple, making her squirm for more.

"Arcade," she sighed on a breath that got lost in the sound of her arms shuffling against the old mattress, of his slightly elevating breathing against her skin. He moved lower on her body, rubbing his palms down the sides of her stomach, finding the skin beneath her navel with his mouth. He glanced up at her, poised as he was over her hips, and smiled.

Toni couldn't fucking believe any of this. But she smiled back. Because he made her smile. Because he made her laugh. He made her feel smart and cherished and unique and capable of taking over New Vegas all by herself. But she didn't _need_ to, because she had Arcade Gannon.

The sexual atmosphere was already far past that of bothering with buttons, so he fingered the edges of her pants and slowly slid them down over her hips, fluttering kisses over each inch of skin as it became exposed. He rolled the material down her legs, stopping to pull it over one foot and then the other with loving care. He caught her gaze and pressed a kiss to the inside of her calf, hunting his lips up the inside of her leg until he hit the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and her body shuddered in response.

Arcade smoothed over the edges of her underwear, tapped her hipbones and cocked an eyebrow at her as if asking for permission.

"Please," she begged, choking on the word in her urgency.

Smiling, reassured, he hooked a finger through the torn material and slid that down her body as well. He gave a soft sigh at the sight of her, wet and waiting for him, folds glistening in the bits of moonlight that filtered through rips in the tent from outside.

Arcade planted one hand beside her head and tangled a hand in her hair, bringing her face up to his so that he could kiss her for the very first time. To say that it was a beautiful, meaningful, deep kiss would have been an overstatement, but it was soft, plaintive, indicative of more to come and that was enough for them. He loosed his hand from her hair and it fluttered down her skin before he buried a long finger deep into her sex.

Toni's body jerked in response and a moan got lost somewhere between his mouth and hers. She raked her fingers through his hair as he slid two fingers in and out of her, in and out, over and over until her hips were undulating in tandem with his motions and she was practically fucking herself with his fingers and then _oh_, with a shriek she let loose, eyes clenched shut and chest heaving as her orgasm pounded through her body with the force of a shotgun blast: hot and fast and overwhelming.

Arcade slowed his hand, breathing hard as his erection strained against his pants. Her arousal ran down his fingers and he glanced up at her drained and smiling face. He managed a smirk back.

"For an assumed-to-be-gay man, you're pretty good at that," she panted, gesturing him back up her body.

He crawled his way back up over her hips, muscles rolling beneath pale skin pulled taut over his fit shoulders.

"Mmmn," Toni hummed, running her hands over his back and clearly enjoying what she found there. "You shouldn't keep a body like this hidden all the time."

"A gunslinger like yourself should know the value of the element of surprise," he chided, accepting her kiss with a small groan.

Her hands clamped down on his shoulders and she pushed, rolling them both so that he was on his back and she sat straddling him with a lopsided grin. "Surprised?"

His eyes widened and he chuckled under his breath. His hands skimmed her hips and reached around to lovingly caress her ass. "Very. Please, go on."

Toni captured his mouth in another kiss as she quickly unbuckled his pants and tugged them down with a grunt of excitement. His length sprung free and he watched as her pupils dilated. There was a hunger in her eyes that made his skin crawl with anticipation.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can handle waiting, Antonia," he hinted and she laughed, settling atop his hips, his arousal pressed flush against her stomach.

"Me neither," she agreed, fingers rolling tantalizingly up his length. He sighed roughly, body jerking beneath her. With a slow, sultry smile, she lifted her hips and then her warm tightness enveloped him and his breath left him with a gust of breath. He grabbed hold of her hips to keep her steady as her hands puddled on his chest, fingers clenching into fists. She threw her head back, gold hair sweeping over her shoulders as she began a slow grind.

Arcade whimpered a groan, fingers digging into her skin. Toni scraped her fingernails down the pale skin that rolled over each abdominal muscle on his chest and she savored his hitching breath. He flexed his hips so that every rotation was met with the spiraling, all-consuming pleasure of his cock hitting as deep as it would go.

Their panting and body heat mingled within the mild desert night air, breath fanning hot against skin, hands planted on his chest as her pace became more frantic. Her toes curled up against the soles of her feet and her shallow moaning lilted like music in his ears.

Arcade caressed her knees, ran his hands up the inside of her thighs to find the bundle of nerves at her center. She gasped at the onslaught of sharp pleasure among the painstaking build of pressure from each roll of her hips against his. He let out a guttural rumble as her core twitched around him, so tight it almost hurt, pleasure streaming hot like radscorpion venom through his veins and leaving him just as delirious. She bit down on her lip, white teeth against plump pink, as she rode him like a pro. Her knees were probably getting bruised on the hard ground—the mattress having been quickly abandoned—thighs cramping around his waist, the muscles of her hips straining in protest from her urgent grind, but none of it mattered at all.

Toni looked down at him, lips forming a short _O_ as she saw the ecstasy in the lines of his face, grey eyes clenched shut as his hands kept her moving on top of him, steadying the swing of each grind. A groan slipped through his teeth.

"_Antonia!_" he growled.

That was it. Toni screamed as the pressure burst, her second climax pouncing like a wild predator. Every muscle in her body bunched and tensed as she ground furiously into his hips, her center tightening around his length as he pumped one last time up into her.

Arcade sighed a moan and his hips flexed as he spilled within her, hands fisted at her sides as the courier took all he had to give and pulses of rapture rolled from the crown of his head down to his curling toes.

They remained frozen for an interminable amount of time, silent among their labored breathing until Toni rediscovered the ability to move and slumped onto his chest. Arcade stroked her hair, chuckling breathlessly as he kissed her forehead.

Toni rolled off of him with a deep sigh, landing on the mattress with a groan as her body landed roughly against the hard bed. She moved herself over to make room for Arcade, who huddled up beside her. A strong arm looped around her side and pulled her to a warm chest.

"Jesus, why didn't we do that sooner?" she asked his shoulder with a lazy smile.

"Acclinis falsis animus meliora recusat," he informed her with a shrug. "A mind intent upon false appearances refuses to admit better things."

"Consider me well taught. No more assumptions for this naïve courier."

Arcade chuckled into the curve of her throat and she snuggled closer into the circle of his arms. He'd been meticulous, thorough, heartfelt . . . every perfection she'd imagined him to be and more. There was logic and there was her love for Arcade Gannon, two circles that could never and would never intersect, but she'd be damned if she didn't keep trying to force them together. And as he hummed into her skin, hands spanning the curve of her hips, fingertips spiraling designs around her hipbones, she considered the idea that she had all the time in the world to get it done.

Because he was right . . . _nihil_novi sub sole.

But miracles could always happen.


	6. Facing the Music

Wesley took a long drag of smoke, his sharp profile silhouetted against the setting sun. His mouth curved up into the wicked smile that Raul knew meant he was very clearly up to no good. Smoke filtered out through his parted lips and lingered in the orange Wasteland air, sharp eyes following the cloud as it drifted and floated away into nothingness.

"We going back to the Thorn, boss?" the ghoul asked wearily. He hated it there. It smelled of piss, booze, and blood and he was just way too fucking old to be trudging around in sewers all day and night.

"You know me too well, Raul," Wesley replied with a sideways grin, stubbing his cigarette out on the ledge beside him. In one swift motion he swung himself up onto his feet, glancing down over the edge of the hotel's revolving lounge. He scuffed his cigarette butt over with his boot and watched it flutter as it dropped.

Raul waited patiently inside, leaning against one of the tables as he watched his companion duck through one of the broken-out windows into the lounge. "You know," the boy—because that's what he was: just a _boy_—said casually as he dropped down onto the chipped tile, hitching a smirk at his ghoul friend. "You don't have to come with me. I can always take Cass."

Raul chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. When would the kid learn? "I don't think Cass wants anything to do with you right now, boss," he chided as they headed for the elevator.

"Shit, that's right," Wesley groaned and slapped the heel of his palm to his forehead. "Damn it, that's going to be a pain in the ass. I can't very well take Veronica. She's a goddamn saint. Same with Gannon. Boone's still resting up after that tangle with the Legion. . . ." He stepped into the elevator and dropped his head back against the wall as the doors closed with a light _bing_. "Lily would probably snap from all the violence. Or Leo. Or whoever the hell she is today." He ran a hand over his handsome face, sighing deeply.

"Maybe you shouldn't have . . . what did you call it? 'Hit it and quit it,' boss?" Raul observed with a wheezing laugh.

"Yeah, yack it up, _hombre_." Wesley strode out of the elevator the second it opened, arms crossed thoughtfully across his chest. "I guess it'll have to be you, then, old man. You good?"

The ghoul shrugged and sighed. "I've been to worse places."

Wesley rewarded him with one of his fresh, young smiles. "That's the spirit!" He slipped another cigarette from the box in his pocket and lit it with Benny's engraved lighter, inhaling greedily and then laughing, smoke billowing out around a chuckle.

Raul followed dutifully after, shaking his head. He was a crazy bastard, that Courier, but he knew how to have a good time.

Now, whether that was for good or ill . . . he supposed he'd never know.

* * *

Wesley lifted the grate from the ground with a grunt of effort and slid it to the side. He grinned up at his companion and dusted his hands off. "Elders first," he chimed.

Raul growled, but lowered himself into the manhole nonetheless, combat boots clanking sharply against the metal bars of the ladder. He'd just reached the bottom when Wesley dropped down smoothly beside him, boots stirring up a cloud of dust with his landing. Raul recoiled the tiniest bit as that aura—the one of blood, sweat, tears, venom, chems, alcohol—hit him like a punch to the face. Wesley took a step forward and inhaled deeply, as if he'd never had anything better grace his nostrils. With an appreciative glance at his considerably older companion, he took off down the hall with his normal confident strut.

The guard at the doorway gave him a once over, and then a nod of acceptance. He eyed Raul suspiciously, leaning close to glare at the old ghoul.

"Don't touch him," Wesley hissed over his shoulder, hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his leather armor. "He's got a couple centuries on you and I've let him kill people for lesser offenses."

Raul widened his ruined lips into a devious grin. The guard took a quick step away and gestured them through without a word. The ghoul couldn't help chuckling as they stepped into the main room. Despite any moral shortcomings, Wesley had certainly kept his loyalty with a great sense of humor and a skill with weaponry that rivaled his own.

Wesley strode to his normal place in the closest corner of the room, settled against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets. He nodded at the spot beside him and Raul leaned behind the kid. He tried to relax as much as he could in the unsettling atmosphere, among the shouts of dirty language from even dirtier men.

Of course the kid was right at home, lighting another cigarette with a smirk, eyes fixed on the arena down below their feet. Through the heads of New Vegas citizens gathered to watch the upcoming fight, Raul could see the gates lift up with the loud clanking of a chain being drawn.

A loud, feral hiss reverberated throughout the large room, echoing up through all the levels of platforms to a cheer of excitement from all of the spectators. A giant radscorpion scuttled out of the gate that the boy and ghoul could see, the other hidden beneath their feet. Another beast quickly crawled forward, though, and they began to fight immediately, claws and stingers jabbing and pinching

A man near them gave a particularly loud and drunken shout, throwing his fist up in the air as one scorpion snapped its opponent's stinger off. Wesley chuckled darkly, shaking his head in mild amusement. Raul couldn't understand it: the kid came here at least once a week, chain-smoked the entire time, observed the fights and the filth that came here to watch them, but never once did he bet a single cap on the actual outcome.

Without its stinger, the second scorpion was doomed and its opponent quickly finished it off to a chorus of triumphant and furious yelling. The man beside them did a quick jig of victory, stumbled a little, barely catching himself before he hit the ground.

Raul glanced at the kid to see his reaction, expecting another one of his little laughs, but found his attention elsewhere. He wasn't even looking toward the arena, his face turned away. "What's on your mind, boss?"

Wesley gave him the smallest shake of his head, dark hair falling over his forehead and shading his eyes from view. Standing at the platform closest to the arena, arms crossed over her chest, red hair aflame in the dim, hazy lights of the Thorn was a woman, and that woman was staring at him. So he stared right back, tilted up the end of an eyebrow in acknowledgement – and a question.

Red Lucy.

Her lips—red, red lips—curled up and she turned away as she was swarmed with betters who wanted to cash out. She pulled a small bundle from her back pocket and began to count out handfuls of caps, NCR money, and Legion denarius for the gamblers. The Thorn discriminated against no factions – or their respective currencies.

Raul watched his companion, wondering what was going through the kid's head as he pushed his hair out of his face and flipped another cigarette through his fingers as the one in his mouth quickly dwindled down to the filter. He fully expected the kid to play hard-to-get, turn on his heel, and march out of the Thorn with another cruel laugh on his lips.

Instead, Wesley pulled his hands out of his pockets and started a trek down the nearest staircase.

Raul smirked and shook his head.

_This should be interesting._

* * *

The closer Wesley got to the red-haired mystery, the more excited he got. She didn't speak a word to any of the gamblers. She was quiet, mysterious, sexy as all fucking get-out and he had to have her. He waited patiently for all of the gamblers to leave, stamping the filter of his cigarette into a streak of ash and nicotine.

The crowd had dissipated and Red Lucy stood all by her lonesome on the platform, overlooking the arena where a few Thorn workers had emerged and were dragging the scorpion body away, a few of them scrubbing blood and venom from the ground. Wesley approached her with a few scuffling steps and cleared his throat as politely as he could manage.

Red Lucy turned, a smile settling onto her lips as she took in his slender form. "I know you. I have seen you here before," she said quietly and god _damn_ her voice was sexy, sultry and deep in _all_ the right places.

"I've been here once or twice, yes," he agreed in a low tone, making a show of dragging his eyes down and back up her body, not possessive, but appreciative. "And I've _certainly_seen you before."

She laughed then, slow and sweet, bright eyes twinkling. "Is that so?"

"I've wondered about the things I could do to you, in private," he murmured, dropping his voice to a husky, soft volume, leaning down over her, the ends of his hair nearly tickling her cheeks.

Red Lucy's eyes widened, along with her lips into a smile. "Bold, as it pleases the Thorn, and me. But it does take more than that to earn my admiration."

"Of course it does," Wesley remarked with a fond smile. "I wouldn't expect the Thorn's master to be so easily seduced."

She shook her head the tiniest bit at that. "I am not the Thorn's master. If anything, the Thorn is my master. It is where men find their true selves: between life and death. You speak like a hunter, yet only actions prove one's worth."

Wesley looked down at the cigarette in his hands, raising an eyebrow in interest before looking back up. "Interesting. Is that what you want to see me do? Kill some things for others' entertainment?"

Her laughter was more than pleasant, tugging at his heartstrings with surprising efficiency. "Oh, no. The Thorn requires a tribute of blood . . . and so do I."

"I will pay this tribute, whatever it may be," he promised easily, affecting a smirk.

"Think you have what it takes?" She searched his face for hesitance, finding none. "Hmm. All right. Prove your worth and I will . . . _reward_ your service. Bring me a dozen Giant Mantis' eggs. If you accomplish this, I might gift you with greater tasks in the future."

"I'll find these eggs for you, Red Lucy," he chimed, clamping the cigarette between his lips and sliding Benny's lighter from his back pocket. He shot her a wink and turned toward the exit, Raul falling into step behind him.

"Where are we headed next, boss?" the ghoul inquired, relieved to be leaving the dingy sewer.

"Vault 22. I know just where there's a mantis breeding ground," he replied with another one of his wild grins.

Raul laughed. "Whatever you say, boss."

* * *

"This _chica_ had better be worth all this, boss!" Raul shouted over the sound of a deathclaw's screams behind them. "She'd better be made of solid gold down there for all the trouble we've gone through!"

Wesley just shot a burst of laughter at the ghoul as they sprinted for higher ground, the Courier lobbing grenades over his shoulder. The explosion went off and sent them flying to the ground among the moaning whimper of the deathclaw as it crumpled to the ground. They landed flat on their backs, gasping for breath as the clouds of dust and dirt settled. They exchanged a glance of relief and then laughed, laughed until their stomachs ached and the sound of their mirth echoed through the ridges of Quarry Junction.

Because Raul was right.

This chica had better _damn well_ be worth it.

* * *

"Welcome back, stranger."

"I've delivered fourteen deathclaw eggs to the cages down below," Wesley informed her with a confident smirk, turning his face to exhale smoke from his cigarette politely away from her.

Red Lucy's eyes lit up like the sign of a cheap New Vegas hotel, her skin positively glowing in pride. "Your bravery far surpasses that of any other, and I've come to admire your actions. You are truly the greatest hunter the Thorn has ever known. Before death takes us . . . I would know you deeper." She brought a pale hand up and brushed her fingertips down the side of his face, eyes fluttering in pleasure. "Come with me . . . my hunter." Her hand dropped to graze his before she turned on her heel and started walking up the nearest staircase.

Wesley watched her hips swing as she moved, the way the artificial lighting curled greedily over the delicious curves of her body.

He was going to _know the fuck_ out of her by night's end.

Wesley stayed within arm's reach of her body as he followed, close enough that it was apparent she was leading him somewhere but far enough away that he wasn't crowding her. The vindictive looks he received from some of the Thorn guards were absolutely priceless. Evidently he hadn't been the only one with an eye out for Red Lucy.

He'd just been the only one good enough to get her.

With one of his trademark smirks, he followed Red Lucy through a metal doorway into her chambers. He paused on the threshold and turned to Raul, who was looking quite put-upon.

"Hey, you can wait wherever you want. I might be a while."

Raul chuckled under his breath. "All right, boss. I might mosey on down to the Strip or something. I'll stay close."

Wesley's teeth glinted in his normal grin and he winked before stepping into the darkened room. Raul watched wearily as the kid's hand flashed out to a button on the wall and the metal door slid closed.

Raul sighed and slid a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of his jumpsuit. He put on the shades, palmed his rifle, and started walking. If he was lucky, he'd be sitting drunk at a blackjack table in less than an hour.

* * *

Red Lucy was not going to be the first to make a move. Her hunter had started this – her hunter could _follow through_.

Oh, and follow through he _did_.

Green eyes were hot and hungry as they claimed her body. She sashayed over toward her wardrobe and pulled it open with a slow, twisting movement, more to give him a real show of his prize than for any real purpose. Her red hair glimmered in the scarlet light she'd flicked on above her large bed. "Shall I slip into something more comfortable, my hunter?"

His wide smirk indicated that he enjoyed the servile mindset. "There will be no need for that," he assured her, flicking the butt of his cigarette from his mouth before crossing the distance between them in two long strides. His hands were rough as they claimed her hips and yanked her up against his body – urging her upward into his kiss.

He tasted of smoke and a hint of something deeper – a recent shot of whiskey. All Lucy knew was that when his red tongue flashed out to meet hers, his taste was enough to intoxicate her, send her mind spinning into incoherence.

Her hunter seemed to notice this in the way her body went limp, for his broad, strong hands slipped under her backside to support her, surreptitiously testing out the flesh there. Evidently satisfied, he nipped her bottom lip in reward for the fit shape she kept her body in. Her moan seemed to set something off within him, like a flame to a firecracker.

With almost painful violence, her hunter twisted her around and shoved her into her open wardrobe. She barely had time to catch herself on one of the shelves before he was attacking her clothing with animalistic need and surprising efficiency. His face pressed into the curve of her neck, teeth grazing her sensitive skin as his hands ripped open her shirt, sending buttons skittering all over the floor. "You send me all over the fucking Mojave," he grunted, hips bucking hard against hers.

Lucy purred, gasping for breath and swimming in the lunacy of desire, unable to feel any physical pain from his forcefulness, only the bulge of his arousal through the material of his pants and her skirt.

"Almost get myself killed by _deathclaws_," his growl continued, hands roughly squeezing her breasts. He hesitated as she gave a small squeak of pain, opting instead to roll his thumbs and forefingers around her hardened nipples. When she melted back into passionate coos, he bucked his hips against her once more.

"For what?" he demanded in a choked groan. "For one sloppy fuck?" He barked out a harsh chuckle, hands clutching her thin hips and jerking them back into his. "And that's all it took for me to get you in bed, wasn't it?" He shook his head, hair brushing her cheek with the movement. "We're both fucking crazy."

In one swift motion, his hands caught her skirt and shoved it upward, out of the way. She wore no underwear, much to his expectant appreciation. His fingers rolled around the front of her thighs to brush her folds – just once – and he purred to inform her that he was pleased with the slickness of her evident arousal.

Red Lucy's eyes were clenched shut as she pressed back into his hips, rolling her now bare ass against the coarse texture of his pants. Her fingers gripped the shelf for dear life until her knuckles were white. She'd never felt more used or more fucking dirty – and she'd never fucking wanted it _more_.

"Please," she whimpered, hating herself and yet desperately needing him inside of her. She pushed out her ass harder, nearly melting into a pool of her own desire as he hissed in pleasure. "I _need_ you. My hunter!"

"That's right," he agreed gruffly. She gasped in relief as she heard the teeth of a zipper give way. "Your hunter. You're some kind of **spitfire**, you know that?" He grabbed one of her breasts again, fingers plucking with surprising tenderness at a nipple as he bit down on the opposite shoulder. Lucy was still recoiling from the jarring sensations when her hunter gave one brutal thrust and hilted into her.

"_OH_!" Lucy's knees threatened to turn to jelly as she nearly collapsed against the shelves in front of her. The hard wood bit into her skin, but it was nothing, absolutely nothing, to the mindblowing sensation of her hunter filling her. One of his hands curled around a shoulder to hold her steady as his hips started a relentless, jilting rhythm. Each slide of his hard length through her silky lips shocked her nerves, hit that _one_ spot within her that burned through every rational thought, destroying her logic and leaving only smoking embers of what was once a strong and intelligent morality in its wake.

Her hands, slick with sweat and jolting from each hard rock of his hips, slipped in their grip on the shelf and her face was forced against the wood, the cool surface icy cold against her scorching, flushed cheek.

When the tables had turned, she wasn't exactly sure. But some time between when he had closed that metal door behind him and now – when he had her bent over head-first in her own wardrobe, pounding mercilessly into her from behind – her hunter had reversed their roles and taken on the leadership that he both earned and deserved. Red Lucy was accustomed to being in control. Men threw themselves down at her boots to beg for their chance to indulge in her mind and body, but she always sent them away.

Not her hunter.

These thoughts, of course, occurred in the one blinding second that her hunter took to switch their positions – namely, her position. Still clutching her hips, he pulled her out of the wardrobe only to roughly spin her body around and shove her shoulders against the unforgiving wood shelving instead.

Lucy licked her lips, skin tingling from the ecstasy that his body conducted as their eyes met. His dark hair was pushed back from his face, green eyes alight with the passion of possession. One of his hands was busy destructing her wardrobe behind her, so Lucy took the opportunity to tug open the straps of his armor. He allowed her that much with a nod of muted approval, as if humoring some childish desire of hers to see his body. She ignored any pangs to her pride – it was all about the _physical _and _touches_ and _feels_ at this moment. Her hands were not gentle as they ripped apart his armor, but then he hadn't exactly been tender with her at any point during this excursion into the delights of the flesh.

Lucy sighed softly as his body came into view and lurched forward to explore the taste of his collarbone. Her hands greedily drank in the feel of lean muscle that rolled over his torso. He was thin, but what width of body he had was surrounded by rolling cords of muscle.

Evidently her hunter was finished modifying her wardrobe, because he scooped her up with his hands beneath her ass and shoved her back within it. Her shoulders rested uncomfortably upon one shelf, thigh muscles clenching as her only other support was her legs locked tight around his waist. He had left another above her for her hands to clench around.

_Good_, because she _needed_ something to grab as he thrust hard back into her with enough force to suggest he would soon perish if not within the tight heat of her core. And, oh, it was _such_ a different experience now that she could _see_ him shove into her, watch his thick length plunge into her and reappear, glistening with her slick arousal. One of her hands gripped the shelf above her hard enough to feel it begin to crack, the other digging sharp nails into her hunter's shoulder. White teeth peeking out between swollen lips, eyes darkened and hungrily devouring every inch of her skin exposed, he did not seem to mind the pain – in fact, he seemed to crave it. He threw his head back, hair sweeping away, long neck exposed.

"_Oh_, my _hunter_!" Her scream got lost somewhere in her throat as she arched her back, breasts curving proudly forward as he forced her thighs further apart with his hips and drove deep, deeper, so fucking deep! "Take me harder! Know my body!"

His guttural groan was enough to warn her of his approval before he obeyed, fingernails scarring her hips as he angled them upward. This allowed him to grip her legs beneath the knees and sling them over his shoulders in a remarkable exhibition of reach on his part and flexibility on hers. Her hands scrabbled desperately on the shelf overhead to keep herself up as he fucked her so hard she saw fucking stars. The salt of sweat peppered her tongue as she licked her lips. Her hunter's chest heaved with effort as he gritted his teeth and bucked roughly up into her. "_Yes_," he snarled harshly. "Yes-s-s."

Lucy threw her head back and let go. The burning sensation of her biceps struggling to hold herself up intensified her pleasure, coupling with the ecstasy rushing through her veins, sending her into sensory overdrive "My – my _hunter_!" she shrieked as she was thrown blindly into orgasm. Sharp pleasure tore through her hot like a bullet. Her arms swung her so that she met every one of his harsh thrusts, their hips meeting in loud smacks as she impaled herself upon his length over and over again, drawing out the blood-curdling heat of her climax.

Her tightness biting down in rolling ripples nearly knocked him on his ass. He ducked his head forward and his rhythm became erratic as he chased his own release. Lucy sensed his urgency and continued meeting him head-on for each thrust, ankles locked numbly behind his back. Her hunter growled and bucked mercilessly into her, almost hard enough to hurt, but enough for him to enjoy the full sensation of her heat on his length and that was enough to tip him over the edge. He threw his head back and roared as climax claimed him. Lucy blinked past the sweat in her eyes to watch his glorious release, feeling him twitch and spill heat within her. A tremor rolled through his body as each muscle experienced the ecstasy of climax in time. Lucy waited until he had stopped shaking to let her legs drop to the floor, careful to lean against the wardrobe for support.

Her hunter's arms allowed her to pull from his grasp, his head ducked forward, face hidden by a curtain of dark strands. He eventually found the strength to move his arms and ran his hands through his hair, shoving it back from his face. His expression was tired, but otherwise unreadable.

"Are you satisfied . . . my hunter?" Lucy asked, noticing with distaste how shaky her voice felt. She shrugged it off, grimacing as her body protested when she pulled her torso from the wardrobe. That was going to sting tomorrow. As for her obvious shakiness, she should not have minded. Hopefully her hunter would be proud for having serviced her so well.

He certainly did not seem disappointed with her post-coupling weakness. Almost tenderly, he reached forward to swipe a lock of stray red hair from her sweat-slick temple. "That . . . that will be something to remember," he replied finally, breathless from the pleasure and the exertion.

"You will not stay, though, my hunter," Lucy observed with a sad smile. Her fingertips grazed his forehead and he nodded against her hand, grasping her wrist and pressing one, swift kiss to her trembling palm.

"Right as always, Red Lucy," he agreed, voice husky as if with amusement. While she attempted in vain to collect herself back to her cool, seemingly (at least until tonight) unbreakable composure, her hunter pulled the shreds of his shirt and the plates of his armor back on. He cast no glance over his shoulder as he left. Red Lucy closed her eyes, committing the union to memory.

Because they both knew there would be no second time.

* * *

Wesley broke out into the Mojave night with a deep, exhausted sigh. The crazy bitch was a good lay, that much was for fucking certain – every pun intended. He hadn't expected her to be the submissive type, but hey, he wasn't complaining. Every guy had to let the beast out every now and then – and in the post-apocalyptic Wasteland, that particular need popped up a lot more than usual. At least for him, anyways.

He raked his hair back from his face again, the movement almost agitated. Something had been itching at him the moment he shoved Lucy into that godforsaken wardrobe something that he didn't understand at first.

He hadn't wanted to see her face.

Normally, when he had a girl in his sights, he played hard to get. Broke her heart a little bit until he was everything she thought about, everything she saw and heard and tasted, before he would eventually take her to bed – the guaranteed result being that he would completely rock her world and she would cater to his every primal urge in her desire to please and gratitude for his very presence. It was fucked up, yeah, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't take that pattern every single time.

Every time except for two:

Red Lucy . . . and Cass.

Cass he hadn't intended to fuck at all. She'd been a friend – a good friend – and a damn good drinker. They could go shot-for-shot and she'd stay strong right by his side. It was damn impressive. She also had a sense of humor that would knock a deathclaw onto his ass from laughing so hard – "Whatever the state of Caesar's pecker, he sure is giving the West a good fucking." God damn it, it made him chuckle just thinking about it.

As for Red Lucy . . .

Thinking about it now, it disturbed him, made him clench his fists and furrow his brow and even growl a little bit in his unease. Raul met him at the crossroads of the highway and fell into step beside him, raised the remains of a brow at his troubled expression, but Wesley waved him off. He knew the truth, could see it plain as day. That didn't make it any easier to swallow, though.

Red Lucy had been his sick attempt to get Cass out of his head.

And it hadn't worked.

He'd shoved her face-first into that stupid wooden case so that he could squint his eyes and maybe that flame-red hair would lighten into soft ginger and her sultry-deep voice would curl up at the end into Cass's slight twang, evident even in the throes of ecstasy.

Wesley lit himself another cigarette, glancing into the box to see the eight that remained there. Good. Hopefully they would last him all the way home.

* * *

Cass leaned back against the refrigerator, nursing whiskey straight from the bottle. Goddamn if she hadn't been right. She could trust no one in this world but herself, and the golden liquid sloshing around in her right hand. That's how it was and that's how it would always be. She'd been downright stupid – out of her mind, even – to consider for a _second_otherwise. Her mistake – and she was paying for it now.

The elevator doors opened with a ding and she closed her eyes. At least she was drunk enough to be numb for now.

Raul stepped out first, cracking his neck. He looked tired and dirty from the trip. The old ghoul gave her a nod of acknowledgement, eyes glinting in something close to warning before he stepped into the adjacent room.

Cass inclined her head. She was a big girl. She could handle herself.

And that was when the Courier himself stepped out. The shirt beneath his armor was ripped near to shreds, eyes glazed over in some sort of exhausted stupor, hair matted with sweat, and body absolutely reeking of sex.

Cass withered at once. She'd been wrong. She couldn't handle herself.

_It's okay, though. It's okay_, she pathetically bargained with herself, _you haven't exactly been good, either. You went out and fucked the first NCR officer you could find on the strip. You know it's true. He knows it's true. We're even now . . . right?_

When she opened her eyes again, Wesley was standing two feet away from her, the plates of his armor clutched in his hand. He let them sink to the floor with a quiet thud, green eyes almost pleading as they met hers. His lips were twisted into a self-conscious frown, eyes sunken and dark, skin pale and flushed, and it was the most vulnerable she'd ever seen him.

"What did you feel," he began slowly, as if the words tasted bad on their way out of his mouth, "when you fucked Sergeant Stanley?"

Cass regarded him coldly. "You have no fucking right to ask that and you know it."

Wesley waved that away with a furious glint to his eyes. "Answer it anyways."

She inhaled slowly, shaking her head. "It was the best fuck of my life."

His lips curled up into a knowing, haunted smile. "But you hated it . . . didn't you?"

"Hated it worse than the bastards who gunned down my caravan," she whispered fervently, hating the way his smile made her heart lurch. His dully satisfied expression indicated that he felt the exact same way now about whatever unlucky broad had the misfortune of being his unwitting little experiment. He held a hand out and, without a word, Cass handed him the bottle. He took a long swig and handed it back, wiping his mouth with the back of an arm. They stayed like that for a long while, standing in silence, sharing a bottle.

It wasn't much.

But it was a start.


End file.
